


clear pebbles of the rain

by someticket



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Gods (Percy Jackson), Annabeth and Will are cousins, Asexual Leo Valdez, Dubious Morality, Established Relationship, Gen, Heist, Multi, POC Percy Jackson, Panic Attacks, Platonic Relationships, Therapy, Trans Jason Grace, Unreliable Narrator, everyone is bi unless stated otherwise, the gods are humans and not related
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 15:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23413489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someticket/pseuds/someticket
Summary: The best kind of therapists are the ones who really care about their patients. Annabeth Chase hates her job, but her patients assure her they wouldn't be able to stage a superpowered uprising without her.or,Annabeth is a therapist for a group of Atypicals, and she's 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 to be a good guy but really just wants her cousin back
Relationships: Annabeth Chase & Leo Valdez, Annabeth Chase & Piper McLean, Annabeth Chase & Will Solace, Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, More TBD - Relationship, Nico di Angelo/Will Solace
Comments: 18
Kudos: 106





	1. #58/#57

**Author's Note:**

> you don't need to listen to the bright sessions to read this- just know instead of demigods they're Atypicals
> 
> title from wild geese by mary oliver

Patient Name: Piper Mclean  
Class: 3-3  
Ability: Piper possesses the ability to control the actions of others by her speech. Shortcomings include the inability to control the deaf, people who otherwise cannot hear her, or cannot understand. [Piper can speak English, French, Greek, limited Spanish]  
Starting date: 23/10/2016 

"Wow, Doc," Piper says, opening the door with no warning and sliding into the armchair on the other side of Annabeth's desk. "Didn't know you took notes- I thought you remembered everything."

Annabeth smiles wryly. "Not even I can remember all my patients' details, Piper."

She watches Piper for a moment, trying to figure out why the woman had made a sudden reappearance in the office. She's sprawled over the armchair with her legs hanging off the armrest, a picture of ease, wearing her favourite jeans and a colourful bracelet. She catches Annabeth's eye to wink suggestively, confident and self-assured and not at all like someone who dropped out of therapy for almost three months.

Annabeth is trained to understand and help these people, but Piper could always throw her for a loop.

She clears her throat. "So, Piper, would you like to discuss why you decided to return to your sessions? I trust everything is under control." 

Piper's eyes skirt to the side, and Annabeth fights the impulse to write it down. The room suddenly seems a lot darker, shadows crawling over the desk and her files, the armchairs, the framed watercolour paintings that Percy keeps giving her. Piper shifts in her chair.

"I'm under control," she assures. "But Leo and I..." She glances at Annabeth guiltily. "We, ah. Had a bet."

Annabeth's eyebrows raise to her hairline. "A bet?"

Piper shrugs. "Who could use their powers without getting caught."

She looks completely relaxed, as if this is a common activity for them and not toeing the line for treason to the Olympus Foundation, or threatening the safety of Atypicals everywhere. Annabeth keeps silent- its difficult enough as a therapist to work with patients the same age as her, but reprimanding them on OF rules falls outside her pay grade. 

"I won," Piper continues, "But that's not the point." She hesitates, leans forward, and says the rest in a hush. "We found another Atypical."

Annabeth pulls out her notebook. "Alright," she says, careful to keep her voice steady. "Can you describe them to me?"

She doesn't bother to ask if Piper is sure- despite her best efforts to appear slack and effortless, Annabeth has seen her prove herself time and again. Piper swings her vans over the armrest and plants her feet on the floor, leaning forward on her elbows.

"His name is Jason, but he didn't give a surname. He's tall, my age -give or take- blonde, glasses." She pauses to think. "Kind of a Superman vibe, you get me?"

"I have no records of him," Annabeth admits. "How did he react to you? Did he see you using your powers?"

Piper pushes her choppy braid over her shoulder. "You should know me better than that, Beth! He just thought I got a free drink because I was flirting with the barista." She laughs. "He 𝘥𝘪𝘥 see Leo reheating his coffee, and came over to chat. I think he was excited- my guess is that he hasn't seen other Atypicals before."

Piper roots around in her pockets for a minute before triumphantly pulling out a slip of paper. "Here's his number."

Annabeth takes it from her, slipping it into her top drawer. "And he gave this to you because..?"

Piper grins. "He thinks I'm hot."

Annabeth sinks back into her chair. News of a new Atypical rarely come from a source other than the OF, and it's worrying that Jason was nearby and undetected. There's a line she's supposed to ring for this scenario, and although she never thought she'd have to use it, the number is on the first page of her diary.

"Thank you, Piper." She says instead. "I'll look into it. As for now, you have time left in your session, so how about we optimise it?"

Piper groans. "Optimise? Big words, Beth. Not a fan."

"Dr. Chase," Annabeth corrects lightly.

Piper pouts. "Dr. Chase is so formal. I've known you for years, I should just call you Annabeth."

Annabeth finds herself smiling slightly. "It's a breach of the doctor-patient code, but I'll allow it. Don't tell my other patients."

Piper smiles, smug. "Let's shake on it." She sticks out her hand, and Annabeth reaches out to her. Once they're touching, Piper tightens her grip. Annabeth can't pull back, despite her efforts.

"It's always easier when the person doesn't know," Piper says, then frowns. "I never used to be able to get you that easily, Doc, maybe I should come around more often." 

She drops Annabeth's hand, who shakes her head. There's a vague feeling of breaking the surface of deep water, and Annabeth's cheeks are flushed.

"Do it again," she orders. "I'm aware of you now. I want to know if you've gotten better." Whether Annabeth has gotten worse is a question she doesn't want to ask.

Piper narrows her eyes.

"Stand up," she says, and Annabeth stands, her knees buckling slightly.

"Do a handstand," she says, and Annabeth promptly falls to the floor, hands grasping at the beige carpet.

Piper repeats herself, in Greek this time, and the language that Annabeth was raised on is familiar and comforting, and then she's upside down.

"Call Percy," Piper says, and Annabeth falls over again. This time, though she stays on the ground. Piper's ability isn't the sort of power you have to fight against- there's no little voice in Annabeth's head telling her to do it, nor is she fighting off a physical presence. It either works or doesn't, and Annabeth is still trying to find out what makes the distinction.

"I won't drag him into this," Annabeth says from the ground. Piper's shoes are in her eyeline, and she feels a flash of resentment for lying at her feet before swallowing it down. Piper is not the OF. Piper is her patient. Piper is her first successful Atypical patient. She should be 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘥 of how far Piper has come.

"Come on, Doc," Piper whines, giving her a hand to pull Annabeth up. "I've been working on my ability over the phone, I want to show you."

Annabeth brushes imaginary dust of her legs. The use of Piper's ability over the phone was something she had considered during Piper's first session, back when she was so young and so afraid of herself, and Annabeth had immediately put the idea away. Seeing her so earnestly ask to use it now makes Annabeth wonder what Piper had been doing these last few weeks.

Annabeth relents. She moves back to her side of the desk, and pulls her personal phone from her desk. She calls Percy, puts her phone on speaker, and places it between them.

Percy picks up after three rings. "Hey babe! Why are you ringing me during work, is everything ok?"

Annabeth raises an eyebrow at Piper, who takes a breath. "Hey Percy, its me. Piper. Tell me that you love me."

"Piper?" Percy's voice comes through tinny and confused. "Course I love you, Pipes. Are you okay?"

"He would have said that anyway," Annabeth points out, and Percy chirps his confirmation, content in his confusion once he hears her voice.

Piper sighs. "It's hard over the phone," she explains. "They have to want to do it, kind of." She looks down on the phone. "Percy, sing the alphabet backwards."

Annabeth listens carefully as Percy starts singing, lacking the cheerfulness he would have if running on his own will. She hangs up.

Piper smiles at her. "Cool, right?"

Annabeth scribbles in her notebook before looking up. "Yes," she admits. "You have made a lot of progress without me."

Piper furrows her brow. "Hey, I wouldn't be able to do anything without you, Doc. You're the trainer."

"I'm not a trainer," Annabeth says, frustrated and determined not to show it. "I'm your therapist. I'm aware that being a therapist for Atypicals means I direct you to use your ability to its fullest and safest potential, and I'm also aware that we are the same age and you're friends with my fiancé, but." She pauses. "Piper, if there is 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 you feel we should discuss from or before your absence, I am here for you. As a real therapist."

Piper darts her eyes to the side. "I'm fine, Dr. Chase. Nothing happened."

She pushes out of the armchair and moves towards the door. "My time's up now, I think." She reaches out for the doorknob, but turns back. "Hey, I'll see you next week."

Annabeth smiles. "See you next week, Piper."

As soon as Piper's gone, Annabeth pulls out her notebook and writes everything down before she forgets. 𝘕𝘦𝘸 𝘈𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭. 𝘗𝘪𝘱𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘗𝘪𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵. Annabeth purses her lips and pulls Jason's number out of her drawer, slipping it into the back of her phone case. She has to remain professional in front of her patients, doesn't like scaring them by the sheer amount she has to put into her notebook. Piper had been so careful to appear normal that she gave herself away, and so began the delicate game of Annabeth pretending she knows less than she does.

Times like this she's glad she works under the OF, because she's honed this skill into a point sharp enough to be a better weapon than any ability.

Her cousin pokes his head in the door. "Nico's a no-show," he tells her, and Annabeth sighs.

"Come in," she says. "I don't want to spend the next hour and a half alone."

Will slips in and closes the door after himself. "Being a good secretary and being a good cousin is impossible to balance," he complains, and Annabeth waves her hand idly. He pushes several files and a paperweight to the side to perch on the edge of her desk.

"So," he starts. "Piper. She's back."

"It's weird, right?" Annabeth asks. "How many sessions did she put down?"

"Filled up the next month," Will says. "I think she's back for good, Annabeth."

She frowns, twirling her hair between her fingers. "I wish she'd talk to me."

Will hums, then reaches for her notebook. He reads it slowly, partially due to his dyslexia and partially to give Annabeth a chance to stop him. She doesn't- despite her instructions, she's always allowed her cousin access to her notes.

Will lets out a low whistle. "You changed her class. It was 3-3 before."

Annabeth nods. "I felt it necessary."

"Chance you'll tell me what those numbers mean today?"

Annabeth pretends to think about it. "0%"

He laughs, not at all offended, and they fall into easy silence. She needs this, he knows, these moments where she doesn't have to explain herself. Where she can just sit with her cousin and have him beside her, have his warm and solid presence. She needs to forget that there should be a third blond head beside them, and it's easier with Will.

He gave up his dream job for her, to have moments like this. He claims that he loves working as a secretary, but Annabeth knows that he worked 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 for his medical degree.

But she can think when he's around. Her train of thought slows enough for her to find a seat in a carriage, and she sinks into her seat, trying to understand what's happening with Piper.

"I thought you didn't like Disney," Will comments.

Annabeth blinks. "I don't- its a corrupt franchise that actively avoids minorities and is trying to take over the entire entertainment economy by using nostalgia for fame. Why are you asking?"

Will cocks his head. "You've been humming the same chorus of 'Under the Sea' for the last ten minutes."

Annabeth shoves him off her desk. She hadn't even noticed, too busy focusing on Piper's strange behaviour- her symptoms tend to show when she's thinking, but she prides herself on catching the songs.

Its because Percy likes that movie, which is kind of sweet. Not that she's telling Will that.

The door opens, and Nico di Angelo pokes his head around the door.

Patient Name: Nico di Angelo  
Class: 3:4  
Ability: Nico has the unique power of communing with the dead. Shortcomings include the dead must want to commune with him.  
Starting Date: 4/7/14

"Sorry for being late," he says, sounding extremely unapologetic. "Why is Will on the floor?"

Will stands up and bustles out of the room, and judging by Nico's blush he mutters something on his way out. Annabeth waits for Nico to approach her, an old habit that has proved effective over timeless occasions.

"Your secretary's a loser," he comments, sitting in the chair with his legs crosses beneath him.

Annabeth smiles wryly. My secretary, she doesn't say, could transfer all of the pain in this world into your body, could do a transplant successfully with incompatible organs, could put you to sleep with his extensive knowledge of immortality across different species.

She doesn't say it because she has a suspicion Nico knows. "When you two decide to do something about your unspoken tension, make sure I am not in the immediate vicinity," she asks mildly, and Nico wrinkles his nose.

"Shouldn't you be more worried about why I was late, Dr. Chase?" he points out.

Annabeth waits for him to continue.

He sighs loudly. "Fine. I'm being haunted."

He turns over his shoulder to swat at empty space. He's looking paler then usual, bags under his eyes, and that alone makes Annabeth believe him.

Nico swings back to face her. "Okay, I get it. I'm being involuntarily haunted. Dr. Chase, meet Marianne. Marianne, she's not a normal therapist, she's supposed to look after us fucked up people."

He looks put-out, hunched over himself with arms crosses and a pout that reminds Annabeth of his teenage self.

"You're not fucked up, Nico," she reminds him, stern. "Now, elaborate this Marianne situation."

She pulls out her notebook as she speaks. If Nico notices her eagerness, he doesn't comment. Annabeth can't afford to have him notice anything- she has no lie ready if he calls her out, but an involuntary haunting could be a step towards a huge expansion in his ability. Even after four years, Annabeth remembers what it's like to have 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘴 instead of 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴, and she has to remind herself that she has to watch from the side-lines as Nico does it himself, these days.

What she was doing before may have been morally corrupt, but it provided better results than "and how does that make you 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭?"

"Um," Nico starts, unsure, and Annabeth jumps. He looks over his shoulder again. "So, I was on my way over, and I tripped over a dog?"

Annabeth must look incredulous, because he struggles to backtrack.

"I was walking here, and wasn't really looking at the pavement, and then there's a dog lying at my feet and I'm falling over. So obviously I turn back to see if I hurt it." He pauses, twisting his fingers into painful looking shapes. "And there was nothing there? And when I turned back to keep walking, I hear a voice behind me, telling me to not step on her dog."

He stops talking.

"And the voice was Marianne?" Annabeth prompts.

Nico sighs. "Yeah. I can see her, and she's been following me."

Annabeth watches with interest as he swats at the air behind him. "If you're not getting along," she suggests carefully. "Why doesn't she break the connection?"

Nico looks her in the eye, nervousness gone, then grins. He looks off-kilter, somewhat deranged, and Annabeth fights the urge to shiver.

"She can't," Nico says, and the effect is lost- he looks like a college student who's way too proud of himself. "I'm holding her here."

Annabeth snaps to attention, no longer hiding her interest. "Are you 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯?"

Nico's eyes widen, shocked by her response. He leans back into the armchair. "I- yes."

"Okay," Annabeth breathes. "Okay." She shakes her head, opens a new page in her notebook. "It looks like you've expanded your abilities. This is very normal for your age, so don't be alarmed. Tell me, how does it feel?"

Nico seems surprised that she can act so calm, but answers her honestly. It's all the usual stuff, Annabeth notes. Lightheaded, adrenaline, the feeling you're holding a muscle in place. 

"Not that you'd know," Nico points out when she tells him this.

"Yes. Not that I'd know."

When Annabeth is satisfied with her notes, she moves on to breathing exercises and meditation, so he feels more relaxed with his enhanced Ability. After years of visits, he's completely calm and willing to close his eyes in her office, but she's still proud. Earlier sessions had resulted in him screaming accusations or completely shutting down.

He had summoned Luke, once. Picked him right out of Annabeth's brain and placed him on Annabeth's carpet in Annabeth's office and didn't even realise what that would mean. She had thrown up in the bin under the desk and went home early, and he had showed up to the next session with his chin jutted out and a batch of brownies.

When he leaves, Annabeth is armed with new information, and nothing but ordinary sessions with ordinary people to fill her day. Will waves her goodbye with a furrow in his brow that she doesn't address.

~~~~~

She gets back to the apartment before Percy, throwing her keys into the dish by the door and opening the windows to let fresh air in. She quickly changes into leggings, then breezes into the kitchen to start making dinner.

Their kitchen is the biggest room in the apartment, at Percy's insistence. He and his mother love to cook together, and Annabeth clumsily replicates a dish Sally had made for her once, tidying as she works. She turns on the radio, sings along to Stevie Wonder, tries to banish her work brain from her home.

Her work brain is plotting. Annabeth is interested, but she's more interested in having dinner ready for her fiancé when he's home. Any day where he's home after her means he'll be exhausted.

She hears the door open an hour later.

"Annabeth, my wife, the love of my life!" Percy calls.

"Not married yet," she reminds him, and there's vague thumping and clattering noises before his arms are snaking around her waist, his head resting on her shoulders.

"I liked the rhyme," he tells her. "What's that smell?"

Annabeth smiles sheepishly. "I was making dinner. I may have burned something."

She feels him shake as he laughs. Annabeth pushes out of his arms to face him.

"Hey," she says, kissing his cheek. He has bags under his eyes and his shoulders are slumped, but he still smiles brightly when he looks at her.

"Hey," he replies. "If this is because of Piper on the phone, don't worry about it."

Annabeth smacks him gently. "It's not that, idiot. I did it because I love you."

He still lights up when she says it, like they're seventeen all over again.

Annabeth wrinkles her nose when she smells burning. She sighs and opens the oven, and a rush of hot air makes her cough. She pulls the dish out with a towel and places it on the counter gingerly.

"Fasolia," Percy says, sounding delighted, and it makes the whole ordeal worth it.

Later, they're half watching a movie while Percy braids her hair, and Annabeth weighs her options. He knows that Piper came back today, and knows she can use her ability over the phone, but he has no idea about Nico.

"I think Piper's hiding something from me," she blurts out before she can rethink it.

Percy makes a questioning noise.

Annabeth looks down at her lap. "Its just- she came back for a session today, but she seemed so different. She expanded her ability again. And she booked future sessions too."

Annabeth lets out a sigh. "Sometimes I wish I could reach out as a friend." She glances at Percy. "You're her friend, I'm sure I could be her friend too."

Percy drops a kiss on her forehead. "Give her time. If she booked more sessions it's because she wants to talk."

He doesn't offer to ask Piper himself, and Annabeth feels slightly disappointed before chastising herself for wanting her fiancé to wrangle information out of her patient. That's the tactic the OF would want her to take advantage on, but Annabeth knows there's other ways- she's still not the kind of person to sit around and do nothing when she could be on the verge of something great.

Annabeth settles down and watches the movie until she feels Percy relax.

"I have to make a call," she tells him, slipping his arm off her shoulders. Percy makes a discontented noise but lets her go.

She scurries to their bedroom, trying to stay inconspicuous, and takes a small phone from her bedside table. There's only one number on it.

"Hey," she says. "What do you know about necromancy? Asking for a friend."

There's a muffled squeak on the other side. "𝘈𝘯𝘯𝘢𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘩! What if the line was bugged?"

"It's not," Annabeth offers. "I set it up myself. Besides, I said 'for a friend'. So it's fine."

Grover Underwood lets out a longsuffering sigh. "I hope you don't act like this around your patients, Dr. Chase."

Annabeth wrinkles her nose. "No, I have to be professional. Necromancy?"

"I'll look into it," Grover says after a pause. "I actually got promoted this week, so I have better access to the files. I have a running theory on the British royal family."

"Thank you," Annabeth whispers. "I know it's hard, staying there. Thank you."

Grover lets out a rough laugh. "Annabeth, we're your friends. You need to stop thinking we gave up everything for you for no reason."

"I can't think of a reason," she admits. "You stayed with the OF, and Will dropped his medical degree, and Thalia moved into the complex..."

She's pulling at the skin on her elbow. If Percy walks in, he'll turn on the lights and see the tears in her eyes, so she moves to block the door. He doesn't deserve this- his fiancé and his best friend conspiring over the phone, Annabeth blocking their bedroom door because four years ago he told her to 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘈𝘯𝘯𝘢𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘩.

"You know the reason." Grover has a hard edge to his voice. "We all loved Magnus, Annabeth. We'll get him back."

~~~~~

Annabeth is woken by Percy clambering around their bedroom, sun streaming through the gaps in the blinds. He tries his best not to wake her on Saturdays- she doesn't have a session until 2- but after spending his childhood tiptoeing around to avoid his stepfather noticing him, Annabeth loves that he can finally make noise in his home.

She had been twelve when his stepfather had died, had only known Percy for a month, couldn't understand why he was sobbing when surely it was a good thing.

Percy didn't ever think he deserved good things. Annabeth would gladly spend her whole life telling him he's the best thing that there is.

"Morning," she murmurs, tangled up in the blanket. Percy jumps and looks down at her guiltily.

"Do good today," she says before he can apologise. "Love you."

He smiles at her, bemused, and Annabeth sticks out her tongue and falls back asleep.

She wakes again when she hears the door close, which could be anywhere between an hour or ten minutes later. According to her alarm, she has five hours before her appointment, but she pulls herself up anyway, yawning as she prepares to shower.

When she's able to function as a human being, she pulls Jason's number from her phone case, drumming her fingers against the bathroom sink lightly. She remembers the number, but feels the need to hold the paper in her hand, soft and small twirling over her knuckles. She hopes Jason is a morning person.

He picks up immediately. "Hello? Who is this?"

Annabeth looks at herself fin the mirror. Her hair is pulled into a loose ponytail, and her mouth is set in a grim line. "Hi!" She chirps. "My name is Annabeth, I'm a friend of Piper. You're Jason, right?"

"Yes," Jason says, polite yet confused. "I'm sorry- why are you ringing me?"

Annabeth makes eye contact with her reflection. "Piper had a bad experience a while back- I usually meet with guys who give out numbers to check if they're creeps."

Her voice is cheery and light, her eyes unblinking and grave. Annabeth watches her eyebrow twitch at the lie.

"I'm engaged already, if that helps," she adds as an afterthought.

Jason says silent for only a moment, but she can hear the gears turning in his head all the same.

"Of course," he says eventually. "I've had some bad experiences myself, tell her I understand. Can I take you out later, Annabeth?"

Annabeth sees herself smile. "Sounds perfect."

~~~~~

Patient Name: Leo Valdez  
Class: 5:4  
Ability: Leo is completely fireproof. Shortcomings include his immunities to fire do not extend to his clothing.

Leo always arrives on time, one of the smaller reasons that add up to him being Annabeth's favourite patient. He slams the door after him, a 5'4 bundle of potential energy determined to find a use for himself.

He collapses on her armchair, and the first thing Annabeth thinks is that none of her patients can sit in it normally, and the rest of her thoughts come in a rush. His long fingers are pulling and pushing at a fidget cube instead of one of his girlfriend's hair ties; his smile is stretched over his mouth to show too much teeth, barely; he has a piercing that he did not have last week; he's swearing.

"Annabeth," he grins, "You would not fucking believe the week I've had."

She doesn't correct his title for her, doesn't reprimand his language, doesn't take out her notebook.

"How can I be useful to you?" She asks, and he deflates slightly.

Leo shakes his head. "Useful? You could go over to my ex-girlfriend's house with an informational pamphlet on asexuality and beat her up with it."

He's looking behind her, eyes unfocused and taking in the view of the city. His lip is bitten bloody, she notices.

Annabeth sighs. "It would be difficult, with a pamphlet, but I'd do it for you, Leo."

His eyes snap back to her, he barks a laugh, pushes curls out of his eyes. "I know, Doc. But I don't want you to." He turns the cube idly then lets it drop to the floor. "I don't want her to be hurt, or sad, or..."

He trails off. Annabeth leans over her desk to place her hand on his arm- his skin is burning. "Your body heat," Annabeth points out. "Are you okay?"

Leo startles, then pulls his arm away. "Don't worry, Doc," he says, grinning. "My breakdown is scheduled for 3am."

Annabeth puts her hand face up on the desk, and he places his over it. Leo always needed physical touch, and he trusts her enough to initiate it every session.

"It doesn't matter," he sighs. "I'm only in college, right? She was hardly the one."

Annabeth shakes her head. "I fell in love with my fiancé when I was twelve."

"Everyone knows twelve is the year to find your best friends though. That's just how it is when you're twelve- like you could reach out and hold the world in your hands and the world will say '𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶'.

The sun breaks out from behind a cloud, warming Annabeth's back and highlighting Leo's hair, catching his jaw, and he looks so sad Annabeth has to close her eyes.

Then she opens them, pulls out her notebook, and asks Leo whether he'd rather talk about his abilities or his feelings, or perhaps how they're connected- she has a suspicion that whatever Piper's hiding brought out her enhancements, and hopefully Leo will improve to a point of pyrokinesis.

Leo's not a subject, she reminds herself, but can't shake the idea that controlling fire is far more useful than immunity to it. 

For now, though, they have to improve his base ability. Annabeth tests his peripheral vision, his bodily awareness, and stamina, assesses his progress.

"Okay," she says once she's done poking at him. "Wait there, I have something in my supplies for you."

She moves across the room to a large cupboard, pulling a key from her blazer.

"Every part of my back hurts," Leo complains.

"Not a lot of back," Annabeth points out, reaching up to a higher shelf. Leo splutters, indignant, as she pulls a box out.

"Here," she announces, taking a handful of kindling and dry newspaper and dumping it on his lap. "Light it on fire."

Leo raises his eyebrows. "Sure, do you have a lighter?"

"Fire is your speciality," Annabeth tells him. "You can't rely on others for it. I want you to hold it in your hands, then concentrate your body heat until it lights."

Leo takes a breath, then takes the kindling in his hands, cupping it like water. He furrows his brow, and Annabeth holds her breath as beads of sweat appear.

"Talk," he hisses, and Annabeth snaps out of it.

"My name is Annabeth Chase, I'm Greek, and I am from an Atypical family, although I have no Ability myself. I am a licenced therapist who also helps and guides Atypicals to master their abilities and function safely and anonymously in the human world. One of my patients name is Leo Valdez, and-" Annabeth pauses for breath and smiles. "And he just successfully started a fire."

"I did," Leo breathes, looking at the fire burning in his hands. "I did!"

Annabeth watches it dance, bright yellow and orange and deadly to her but beautiful to Leo. "Is it draining?" she asks briskly.

Leo shakes his head, transfixed. "No- not to maintain, but it was to make it."

He looks up at her. "It was my fire when I made it, I think, but now it's just fire. It's not part of me anymore."

"Can you control it?" Annabeth asks, interested.

Leo turns back to the fire and squints, and it dies. They sigh together.

Annabeth sits back in her chair. "Time for regular therapy, I think."

Leo smiles at her. "Good. I can't afford a therapist to train my superpowers and a therapist to make me like myself."

His speech is looser, his hands are still. Annabeth scoffs and starts the meditation exercise.

~~~~~

Leo is her only Atypical on Saturdays, but she still has normal patients- unsure teenagers and tired adults, all doubtful of her experience when they see a young blonde woman sitting behind a polished desk that's comically big.

On the other hand, Percy is always home first on a Saturday, and she unlocks the door to the smell of lasagne and her fiancé singing La Bamba. 

"Hey Seaweed Brain," she calls, invoking an old childhood nickname, and Percy swings out of the kitchen with a towel thrown over his shoulder and a spatula in his hands.

"Annabeth!" he cries, like it's a welcome surprise to see his fiancée in their shared apartment, and she loves him.

Annabeth hangs her jacket behind the door. "I can't stay for dinner," she says, apologetic. "I have a date."

Percy laughs and bustles her into the kitchen. "Are they cute? Can I come?"

Annabeth groans when she sees the lasagne in the oven- it's her favourite. "I don't know if he's cute. I think he's Atypical."

Percy raps his knuckles against her head gently. "Tell work brain to go away, otherwise you'll never get a second date."

"I don't want a second date," Annabeth says. "Sing La Bamba for me?"

Percy drops the spatula to swirl her around the kitchen, picking up from the start, and Annabeth laughs and let's him lead. His eyes are usually the brown-grey of the East River these days, but to her they'll always be the deep green of the murky lake at the camp where they met.

Percy switches to 𝘚𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘚𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘋𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥,, and Annabeth joins in, skipping over the lyrics she doesn't know. They finish before the song ends, out of breath and wheezing laughter.

"I can't wait to be married to you," Percy says softly, and Annabeth turns to the sink and splashes water over him.

It slides right off him, leaving him dry, and he looks craftily at the puddle at his feet before tilting his head, and Annabeth watches, hiccupping, and the water rises and gathers in a ball over her head.

It casts a trippy shadow over her arms. "Okay," she relents. "I want to marry you too, softie."

Percy grins, and the water dips to touch her hair before he lifts it off her completely, using it to clean down the kitchen counters before dropping it in the sink. Annabeth's hair falls over her shoulders, dry and curling softly.

"Have fun on your date" Percy tells her. "Lasagne tastes better the next day anyway."

Annabeth rolls her eyes as his dramatics, and texts Jason to confirm a time. When she's changed and comfortable, she slips out the front door. 

Jason meets her outside the restaurant, dressed in well fitting jeans and a button up, with a pair of wire framed glasses that Annabeth almost didn't notice. His mouth is set in a subtle frown that suggests he doesn't even know he's making an expression, but when she calls out to him his face breaks into a grin. She's reminded abruptly of a golden retriever.

"Hello, Annabeth," he greets, polite, and Annabeth wonders if he's trying to make an impression on her or Piper. "I hope you like the restaurant- it has vegan options, and gluten free."

The restaurant is nice, actually- no too fancy, not too cheap, not too intimidating for a first date. It's not awkwardly empty, but Jason can speak without raising his voice. To Annabeth's surprise, she's interested in what he has to say. She orders something inexpensive, with the suspicion Jason will insist on paying, and drops the act as soon as the waiter leaves, unwilling to lure him into a false sense of security.

His face goes carefully blank when she asks about his abilities. Annabeth backtracks, tries to explain her position, brings up Leo reheating his coffee. Jason remains impassive. Annabeth eventually trails off, shivering.

As soon as the silence becomes unbearable, Jason smiles.

"Nobody ever notices," he comments. 

Annabeth looks at him oddly.

"I've been using my ability since you mentioned it," he says, then drops down several inches.

Annabeth's hands fly over her mouth. "Flight," she hisses, and Jason nods, amused.

Annabeth splutters. "Jason, you can't just use your abilities in public."

Jason frowns, considering this. "If I stop, will you let me into your therapy?"

Annabeth doesn't stop to think about what he'll benefit from this- as far as she's concerned, this is an unregistered Atypical who can 𝘧𝘭𝘺, who wants to be under her watch.

"Of course," she says smoothly. "It's a deal."

~~~~~

She gets home close to 9pm, exhausted but satisfied.

"Back from my date," she shouts, locking the door behind her.

"That's a shame," Percy replies from the living room. "I'm still on mine."

Annabeth blows him a kiss as she passes, heading straight to the bathroom to take off her makeup. 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, she tells the mirror, and watches her eyebrows twitch. Gritting her teeth, she says it aloud, again and again until her face remains impassive.

"I will save my cousin," she says to her reflection, and when her reflection doesn't move she can't decide if it's a victory.

Annabeth leaves the bathroom and tells Percy she's going to bed early. Yawning, she sets an alarm and falls into bed.

The alarm wakes both her and Percy at 3am, and he sits up immediately, little shards of ice hanging in the air like knives doubling every time Annabeth blinks.

"Sorry," she whispers, voice sleepy. "That's me."

Percy's breathing hard. "Why do you need an alarm for 3am?"

Annabeth feels a stab of guilt. "I'm sorry, I should have told you."

She counts to three and then rolls out of bed, gathering her hair in a ponytail. The ice knives turn to water and slink back to the en-suite. 

"It's for work," Annabeth explains, pulling a sweater over her head. "Don't worry. I'll explain later, I need to go to the kitchen now."

Percy still looks concerned, but he trusts her enough to lie back down. Annabeth pads into the kitchen and takes out her phone.

"Annabeth! How the 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 are you!" comes Leo's voice, brittle, and Annabeth swears under her breath and races back into the bedroom to put on leggings.

"I'm taking the car," she says. "One of my patients needs me."

"See you later," Percy murmurs, voice muffled against the pillow.

Annabeth kisses his forehead and leaves, jogging down to the complex parking with the car keys, checking multiple times if Leo's hung up.

She pulls out to the street, cursing the fact that Leo lives far away enough to drive. By the time she reaches his campus he's left the call, and she's sprinting to his dorm with a look on her face tells the campus security to leave her the fuck alone.

She knows Leo's dorm number because she's his therapist, and she knows his roommate is away because she's his therapist too. She sends a quick thanks to whoever's listening that the door is unlocked, and finds Leo- wide eyed and hyperventilating- on his bed.

It's almost 4am, and Annabeth left her professionalism at home. She sits beside Leo and takes him in her arms, holding him tightly and willing him to talk to her.

"Touchy-feely tonight, huh?" he wheezes, and Annabeth starts to talk.

"My name is Annabeth, I'm here beside you and if you don't like yourself I'm going to like you until you can."

Leo inhales, bats her arms away. "Talk."

"My name is Annabeth, I study Atypicals. During the witch hunts one Atypical woman got caught on purpose because she was fireproof and thought it was funny. I have a scar on my back from taking a knife for my fiancé when we were sixteen. Velma Blake, who wrote those comics you love, is an Atypical- she can see windows into the past for relevant information an a given situation but she didn't realise until she was older due to her using it constantly to solve mysteries with her friends when she was younger. She just thought she was smart."

Leo moves until he's sitting on the edge of the bed, twisting the sheets with his fingers. "She is smart."

Annabeth waits. She can't see his face.

"You took a knife for your fiancé? Why do therapists pretend to be less cool then they are?" 

"Professionalism," Annabeth offers, and Leo turns to face her. He has bags under his eyes and is sitting deathly still. 

"Thank you," he says, grave as she's ever seen him. Annabeth holds out her arms, and she sees several emotions flicker over his face before he falls forward.

"Does everyone feel like this?" he asks, voice cracking.

Annabeth threads her fingers through his curls, imagining them gold instead of copper. "Everyone," she whispers. "Some will be burning and some will be thirsty and all will need water."

She holds him until he falls asleep, remembering when her friends did the same for her. If she had been a different kind of person, she would have stayed. Or left him alone- completely alone, would have dropped her martyr's plan and buried it at Leo's feet.

Annabeth Chase doesn't stand at the verge of better and wait. She leaves Leo, holds her plans tight to her chest, and thanks Magnus before going home. She has no patients until Monday, and her work brain has hours to figure out this fucking mess.


	2. #52/#49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long i had to physically fight myself to not make this a pipabeth fic

#52

Will greets her with a cocky grin and a salute- he’s always been a morning person. Annabeth sneers at him as she passes, throwing the door open to her office and immediately opening her blinds to the rain that’s bucketing down on the streets. It echoes her mood. Suddenly uncomfortable where she stands, Annabeth grabs the edge of her desk and starts to pull, frowning at the indents in her carpet where the legs used to be. After a brief moment of futile tugging, she growls and stalks to the other side, pulling out the draws and leaving them, still full of notebooks and files, on the floor. Desk now considerably lighter, she continues dragging it out of her way.

“Morning, Dr. Chase! Need a hand?”

Patient Name: Frank Zhang  
Class: 3:2  
Ability: Frank has the ability to shapeshift into animals. Shortcomings include his mental state affecting his ability to shapeshift back into himself, and his lack of ability to shapeshift into other humans.

Annabeth jumps. “Frank, you’re early.”

Frank ambles across the room and picks up the other edge of her desk. “Yeah, I woke up early so I figured I’d come in. Where are we moving this too?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Annabeth admits. “It just can’t be between me and my patients anymore. I was doing some reading, and experts say a physical barrier can build an emotional one.”

They move as she explains, and Annabeth can see the open confusion on Frank’s face, but he doesn’t ask questions. They leave the desk by the door, and Annabeth drops her side, grabbing paper and a pencil from her cupboard on the way back to her own chair and leaving them on the wooden stool beside Frank.

“Okay,” she says, dragging her chair closer to Frank. “Thank you- isn’t this much better?”

Frank nods, then picks up the pencil. “Same drill?”

“Same drill,” Annabeth confirms. “Self portrait, no people and no goats.”

Frank groans, but obligingly hunches over the stool, which is comically small compared to his bulk. “That was one time, Dr. Chase!”

“It was the first time,” Annabeth reminds him. “I sat in my office for 40 minutes wondering how a goat had gotten in. It was a memorable first impression.”

She can see the tips of his ears flush red, but he keeps scribbling. Annabeth's not supposed to look at the drawing until he’s finished, but she has no desk to distract herself with, so she picks idly at her nails.

Frank looks up abruptly. “I’m finished. It was easy this week, I was kinda thinking about it before I came in.”

He reaches his hand up to run the back of his neck, awkward.

“May I see it?” Annabeth asks.

Frank hands her the piece of paper, and his art skills aren’t great but she can make out a treadmill- it has a huge button that says OFF. 

“What’s on the treadmill?” Annabeth asks carefully.

Frank leans over to point at it. “It’s a spring.”

He catches her eye. Annabeth fold the paper and inhales. 

“Do you want to explain it to me? You don’t have to if you don’t feel comfortable.”

“I will,” Frank says, then hesitates. Annabeth waits.

“Um. The treadmill is turned off, because the methods you told me about are working. I- I don’t exercise as much, and I’m using my free time to take up hobbies.” He looks at his nails. “I actually made really good banana bread over the weekend. But, um. The spring is because I guess I just feel really wound up? Like there’s a pressure on me, and I don’t really know what to do and also I could maybe explode and end up anywhere.”

He lets out a weak chuckle. “So. That’s my drawing.”

“Frank,” Annabeth whispers, placing her hand over his. Hers look so delicate. “It is okay that you’re feeling aimless from exercising less- it controlled your entire life. And I am so proud that you made banana bread.”

Frank shakes his head. “I don’t know, Dr. Chase. How many people should feel like making bread is a breakthrough?”

He looks nauseated. Annabeth blinks. “It 𝘪𝘴 a breakthrough,” she says, she insists. “It doesn’t matter how many people have that particular one, it's important to you- it means you’re healing.”

She sees him flinch, although he tries to hide it. Annabeth narrows her eyes.

“Repeat after me,” she tries. Frank shrugs.

“I am mentally ill.”

Frank sighs, and Annabeth nudges him with her knee. He repeats it, muttering so quietly she can barely hear.

“Mentally ill is not a dirty term.”

He raises his eyebrows at her phrasing, but repeats this one without her prompting him.

“Fat does not equal unhealthy, and fat does not equal unattractive.”

Frank sighs. “Saying these things don’t make me believe it, Doctor.” He looks at her beseechingly. “I’m 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨, but it feels so fake telling people I exercised so much I needed a therapist.”

Annabeth squeezes his hand. “Frank, everyone has a different relationship with their mental health. Needing a therapist is nothing to be ashamed of.”

She sighs and stands up, walking to her desk and pulling out her notebook, as well as a table tennis ball. “I want you to repeat those phrases every night.”

When she sits back down, Frank is nodding. His eyes are closed, and his mouth is moving with no sound coming out, and Annabeth watches him- his soft jawline, his broad shoulders, the tears caught in his eyelashes and how his head tilts as he listens to the rain. Annabeth thinks only she would notice how he looks softer these days. He’s finding it difficult to wean off exercise, mostly for it’s reputation as a healthy pastime, and Annabeth often has to bite her tongue to hold back the harsh truth- Frank had been killing himself, not allowing his body to rest or recover in a desperate and long winded attempt to avoid being seen as fat.

He’s a pretty good patient to have first thing in the morning, though. He brings out the therapist in her, the real one. The person who maybe could have ended up in this profession without all her other doors being locked and bolted.

When Frank opens his eyes, his pupils are rectangular and eerie. He licks his lips. “Can we do some work on my shapeshifting? I’ve been working in my partial shifts, and I held a bear arm for almost an hour!”

Annabeth nods. “That’s really impressive. To be able to alter part of your DNA but others to remain the same could be a breakthrough in medical sciences...”

She trails off, drumming her nails against her thighs. They’re painted black, after Thalia had visited and decided she wasn’t willing to undo her perfect chipped nails, and Percy's hands were wrinkled and sore after training all day.

Frank coughs. “Medical sciences? Aren’t Atypicals kept secret from that whole thing?”

Annabeth blinks. “Yes, of course. My mistake.”

The rain turns to hail behind her, and she turns to look at it. Percy’s been trying to control different states of liquid recently, and she teases him for being an overachiever but they both know it’s a 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦. It’s a 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳. It’s terrifying, actually- he’s one of the only known Atypicals who was never subjected to the OF's labs, yet is one of the most powerful.

Annabeth can picture him outside now, standing dry and unkempt in the middle of a rainstorm, with his mouth set in a grim line as he tries to control the icy downpour. He's scary when he looks like that, not that Annabeth would ever tell him, and part of wonders what sets him apart- could Leo one day control fire like that? Could Nico ever stand over someone and raise their grave around them? Could Piper see someone begging for their life and tell them to just finish the job themselves? Could Frank-

“Catch!” Annabeth cries, whipping around and firing the table tennis ball irrationality high in his direction. Frank jumps up from the chair and reaches his arm up. Annabeth sees the spilt second he realises he's not tall enough, and then his hand just keeps reaching up, shifting tan-green-brown, and then Annabeth is staring at a young man with an incredibly long patterned arm and hairy fingers gripping a red ball.

“Fascinating,” she murmurs.

Frank looks alarmed. “I was trying for giraffe, since their front leg is like an arm, and then I remembered a giraffe couldn’t catch a ball, and-”

“You changed your DNA to giraffe and some kind of primate at the same time,” Annabeth interrupts.

Frank frowns and shakes his abnormal arm before it retracts back into human form, and he tosses the ball back to Annabeth easily. “Do all therapists throw things at their patients?”

Annabeth shrugs, running the ball over her knuckles. “No. But if you walked in to any other therapists office as a goat they wouldn’t be as understanding as me.”

All of her Atypical patients are enhancing their abilities, each becoming slightly less human and slightly more dangerous, and she has a difficult relationship with coincidences. Greater powers or not, it's an opportunity.

“Close your eyes,” she tells Frank. “I’m going to check if your senses change when you complete a full shapeshift.”

She works with Frank until he’s pale and sweaty, and then bans him from intense exercise for the rest of the day, telling him to call her or Will if he needs help. Frank seems to accept this, and they walk to reception together, Annabeth waving goodbye.

Will twitches his head at reception desk. It’s subtle, but it’s enough to get her attention. She closes her office door with a sharp click and wanders over to him, taking no effort to rush because the room is empty, and there is no reason for him to whisper.

“Reception is empty,” he says when he deems her close enough, and Annabeth stares at him for what must be a full minute.

Will makes a frustrated noise. “Reception is empty because Ren McCormack cancelled and Piper is buying me coffee.”

Annabeth glances out the windows- floor to ceiling, they take up the whole wall. The OF funded her office, and it’s supposed to be calming but really comes off pretentious.

“In this weather?” She asks, then rethinks. “Why is Piper here?”

Will shrugs, returns to typing. “She says she wants a session today. Somehow managed to pick the exact time someone else dropped out.”

Annabeth turns and leans against the desk, humming non-committedly. Piper comes in on Fridays, so she either can’t make it tomorrow or has extremely important news. 

The elevator starts to move. “That’s probably her,” Will comments, still typing.

Annabeth leans over his screen. “What are you writing?”

“One Direction fanfiction,” Will says drily, swatting her away. “Go talk to your patient.”

Piper steps out of the elevator at that moment, holding a blue keep cup and flicking her damp hair over her shoulder. Will smiles smugly, turns to Piper and accepts his drink with a wink.

Piper turns to Annabeth. “Hey Doc,” she says, squeezing her hair to get the water out. “Sorry for showing up like this- I can’t do tomorrow and I figured if I showed up for a session on Saturday you’d think I quit again.”

Annabeth pointedly looks to Will, then back to Piper. “Or, you could call my secretary and let us know ahead of time?”

Piper shuffles. Her khaki jacket slips off one shoulder, revealing smooth brown skin, and she hastily yanks it back up. Will reaches under the desk and pulls out an oversized hoodie and hands it to her, and Piper gratefully peels of her wet jacket and slips into the hoodie. 

“I don’t use phones,” she mutters when the bulk of it if over her head. Annabeth cats a look at Will- 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵?- but he shakes his head.

Piper pulls the hoodie down- Chicago 1998, light grey, the sleeves are too long and only her nails peek out of them. They’re bitten to the quick.

“What was that?” Annabeth asks, content to resume professionalism once inside her actually office.

Piper seems to deflate, then inhales and fixes her posture. She’s actually quite tall when she’s not leaning all her weight on one leg. “I don’t use my phone anymore. So I came in person. Today. For a session.”

Her mouth is set in a thin line, her eyes unwavering. Will flicks his head between the two of them like he’s watching tennis. 

Annabeth shrugs. “Sure. There’s a spare slot right now anyway.”

Piper flashes a grin and starts walking towards her door. Annabeth follows, shrugging helplessly at Will’s bemusement. She closes the door behind her, softly, Piper having already found her place in the armchair.

“I see you’ve changed the layout,” Piper comments, and from anyone else it’s an observation but Annabeth feels like likes being tested. Piper’s just sitting, dragging her blunt nails up-down the worn fabric if the armchair, eyes half closed and looking like she’s dreaming, and Annabeth has goose bumps.

She clears her throat. “Yes. I think it encourages a relaxed atmosphere.”

Piper doesn’t look at her, and Annabeth has maybe definitely failed the test, so she just sits down. Crosses her legs one way then the other, resisting the urge to pull out her notebook and check if Piper prefers being asked questions or whether she wants Annabeth to wait for her to be ready.

“I’m going out with my dad tomorrow,” Piper says, staring pointedly at the floor. “That’s why I won’t be here. And. I was actually just going to skip- I'm mostly here for help with the Atypical stuff, and I was okay with missing one week.”

Annabeth nods. Piper is actually ahead of schedule with her abilities, and it’s refreshing to see a patient who knows their worth.

Piper bites her lip. “But, I think I want to talk about my dad?”

Annabeth waits for a beat, then replies- “Of course, I understand why it would conflict you. Though, I am proud of you for this progress.”

“You don’t understand, ”Piper says, sounding suddenly frantic. Her nails dig into the arms of her seat, and Annabeth only notices now that she’s sitting normally. “You can’t. I never actually told you about him.”

Annabeth leans forward, props her elbows on her knees. “Piper, I understand having a difficult relationship with parents. If you're ready to tell me, I can help you, but if not there is 𝘯𝘰 rush.”

Piper screws her eyes shut. “Do you ever feel like people are always talking, always doing shit, and I just need a chance to 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬.”

Annabeth remains silent, because she revels in the constant action around her. Percy says she thinks too much, Thalia says she thinks too hard. She wishes she could stop thinking at all.

The silence hangs in the air, heavy and thick. Annabeth allows herself to watch Piper- all her patients have a habit of closing their eyes in her office, and she becomes familiar with their faces, tries to learn their reactions to good thoughts and bad ones. Piper's face stays smooth, not even a flicker of eyelashes.

“He called me precious, growing up. He called me precious and pretty and delicate, and God, Annabeth, I spent years thinking I was made of fucking china. I climbed a tree once, got all the way to the top and fell back to the bottom, and watched myself bleed for half an hour before doing anything because I didn’t believe I could. I thought I would be hollow, or something. Break into pieces.”

She opens her eyes, they’re brown-green-gold and full of tears, and she has this look on her face, like she’s had something priceless stolen from her but would move heaven and hell to steal it back, and Annabeth wonders if this is what she looks like to her friends all of the time.

“That may explain your hands-on approach to life,” Annabeth says, careful to keep her voice even.

Piper smoothes her hands over her sweatpants. “Yeah. I don’t know if my dad was trying to mess me up, but he 𝘥𝘪𝘥, and now I’m seeing him tomorrow...”

It’s the first time Piper will have seen him since she left for college, maybe beforehand- a huge movie starring her father had come out during her last year of high school, filmed some place in Egypt, and Annabeth has no doubt that between filming and press Piper's interactions with him were few and far between. 

“I keep reminding you that I provide services other than Atypical training,” Annabeth murmurs, unsure how to put it kindly.

“I know,” Piper sighs. “Leo says you’re actually a really good therapist. Thanks for looking out for him the other night, by the way.” She laughs, quick and quiet. “He’s like a little brother to me.”

She smiles, a dull copy of her usual expression, and wipes the tears from her eyes. Annabeth hesitates for a second for a moment before reaching out and taking her hand.

Piper looks at her with wide eyes. “I want you to call me Annabeth,” Annabeth decides. “It’s obviously more comfortable for you if we consider each other equals.”

Piper squeezes her hand. “Thanks. Can we do Atypical stuff for a while? Leo says my Spanish had really improved, so I started learned Mandarin.”

Annabeth nods approvingly. Mandarin is the most spoken language in the world- Piper’s ambition in unsurprisingly and slightly scary. Annabeth tried to dabble in languages when she was younger, but her dyslexia was uncompromising. Her earlier notebooks are in an unintelligible mixture of English and Greek.

“I want to record your voice, if you’ll allow it,” she tells Piper. “I want to know if your ability will work on yourself. It could be a major setback.”

Piper purses her lips and nods. The effort turns out to be futile, as no matter how Annabeth warps and changes the recording it always effects her and washes over Piper’s head, but they also discover that noise cancelling headphones render her completely useless and ASL has no effect. Annabeth takes the opportunity to teach her the basics anyway, as it got her out of a tough situation when she was thirteen and cornered by an old blind lady- Grover had seen her frantic signalling and thrown a tin can at her head. Annabeth doesn’t tell this story to Piper, mostly because professionalism and fractionally because she doesn’t want to admit she was ever scared of a woman who couldn’t see and could be taken down by a flying piece of aluminium.

As Piper’s leaving, Annabeth reminds her that see can always call to practice conversation with her father, and Piper drops a wink and says she was waiting for Annabeth to admit she wants her to call. Annabeth waves her out and stretches her legs, walking laps around the office and throwing the windows open when she realises it’s no longer raining. Her phone is face up on the relocated desk, which is how she sees the message from Will -𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳 👀- and then her door is quite literally thrown off the hinges.

“Ah.” Annabeth says. The woman who broke it stares down at it incredulously before turning to Annabeth with her eyebrows raised. 

“Your door sucked,” she announces, then strolls over to the armchair and sits with one combat boot cemented to the floor and the other in the seat, her arms resting on her knee like it’s some sort of built in armrest.

Annabeth picks up her broken door and balances against the door gently to give the illusion of privacy, then moves to sit opposite the woman.

“Don’t worry about the door,” she says. “I’m Dr. Chase.”

The woman makes fleeting eye contact and looks away again.

Annabeth pulls out her notebook to check the patient details. She already knows, but it gives her something to do with her hands. Her name is Clarisse la Rue, and the space on the file for Atypical patients is blank, meaning the OF know she’s an Atypical but don’t know what her ability is. Annabeth glances casually at her broken door and puts the pieces together.

“It’s nice to meet you, Clarisse,” she offers. “Can I ask why today?”

It’s her preferred first question- most patients don’t have a ready response to why they’re in therapy, most scared that their story will pale compared to others the therapist will know. 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺. What sets today apart from yesterday, from next week? What made you face the fact that you’re struggling, that you need help 𝘯𝘰𝘸.

Clarisse doesn’t answer, and Annabeth can tell she won’t. Her posture is stuff and unwelcoming, and she keeps staring out the window. She worked in the military, according to the file, and was given two years off to recover from a traumatic event. Annabeth doubts she’s her only therapist, which could be why she’s unwilling to open to a second person, let alone one her age.

Annabeth waits until the silence becomes uncomfortable, then stands. Clarisse looks at her, looks away, and Annabeth addresses her the only way she’ll recognise.

“Get up,” she commands. “The rain stopped, we’re going on a walk.”

Finally, finally, she has Clarisse's attention. She jumps out of the chair, suddenly all untapped energy, and helps Annabeth move the door out of the way to leave. Will gives her a look as they pass, and Annabeth just waves cheerily.

There’s a park nearby, and the rain clings to the blades of grass and turns them silver and Annabeth can count at least four people with small children splashing in puddles. Annabeth walks briskly, listening to Clarisse's heavy footsteps falling just out of eyesight. They don’t exchange any words, don’t make eye contact, but Clarisse stays close enough for pedestrians to know they’re walking together. Small victories, Annabeth thinks.

She passes under a low hanging branch, and Clarisse bats it out of her way absently, spraying a flurry of raindrops everywhere. Annabeth gasps as the cold water runs down her back, an unfamiliar sensation since moving in with Percy, and Clarisse makes a strangled sound that may be a laugh.

Annabeth shakes her hair out. “That’s enough, I think. Let’s go back. I know a shortcut.”

She doesn’t wait for a reply, simply cuts to the left and trails through the grass until she’s walking on pavement again. She can almost 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 Clarisse drilling a hole into the back of her head, and let’s herself smile- each patient needs a different approach to make them open up, and she may have just struck gold.

Clarisse jogs into step with her when she sees Annabeth heading towards an alleyway, one messily slit eyebrow raised. Annabeth raises one back and pointedly steps forward, offering no explanation, and this time Clarisse walks beside her.

And honestly, Annabeth feels bad for the unfortunate soul who tries to mug them, because the second Annabeth hears the word 'bitch' Clarisse strikes and then there’s a man in dark clothing slumped against a wall that hosts several cracks.

“Super strength,” Annabeth muses. “Fascinating.”

Clarisse looks at her likes she’s crazy. “You really don’t care, do you?”

That confirms the theory that she was suggested by someone who knows Annabeth, but she still has no idea if it was an anonymous tipoff from the OF or another patient.

Annabeth shrugs. “I care enough to answer questions and help you control your ability.”

Clarisse levels her with a look. “Okay. I’ll go back to your office, but if you don’t answer every one of my questions I will find a way to turn all your other freaks against you.”

“I very much doubt it,” Annabeth says. “Though, if you end up trying I suggest don’t call them freaks to their faces.”

Clarisse huffs and moves a step ahead of her, and Annabeth smiles to herself as they walk back to the office, smiles all the way up the elevator that for inexplicable reasons still plays gentle music meant to sooth but really aggravates. Will rolls his eyes when he sees her, and Annabeth winks. She and Clarisse move the door to block our reception, and finally settle back down.

“We only have twenty minutes,” Annabeth reminds her.

“What am I?” Clarisse asks.

“You’re human, with a unique ability. You’re called Atypical in order to distinguish you from other humans.”

Easy question, common question. Annabeth could recite the answer in her sleep, paired with kind eyes and an understanding smile.

“Who needs to distinguish us?” 

Annabeth blinks. Wets her lips. Clarisse notices, and points at her.

“There. See? You’re not Atypical, yet you obviously know a fuckload about us if you train us. Who taught you? Who gave you this job?”

She looks equal parts victorious and frantic. Annabeth draws a blank.

“I already 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 a therapist! My girlfriend says you know about the superpower shit, so I said I’d check you out for her sake, and you 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 I had an ability. What’s going on?”

The armchair is folding into itself under her hands. Annabeth panics- she’s not prepared, none of her patients ever ask, all so grateful for a mentor.

“The OF.” She blurts, and Clarisse stills.

Annabeth can feel her heartbeat. “The OF. They have eyes everywhere, to register new Atypicals and to protect humans without abilities from them.”

The best lies always have truths laced in. The truths of the OF are laced with lies. Clarisse will just be one more person who can’t tell where fact ends and fiction begins.

Clarisse scratches her scalp. “Okay. And you?”

Annabeth wrinkles her nose. “I grew up with Atypicals. By the time everyone realised I had no ability I was already too invested. So they gave me a job out here instead.”

Her eyebrow doesn’t twitch.

~~~~~

Will whistles when she finally leaves her office. “And how was your day?”

Annabeth sighs. “Great. I had to explain to all my normal patients why I moved my desk and tore down my door.”

Will winces. “Yeah. Did you get my text about her.”

Annabeth pulls out her phone. “You told me she had top energy, not that furious is her base emotion and she asks scary questions.”

“Good,” Will says. “You need someone to put you in your place.”

Annabeth pulls her coat over her shoulders and leans over the desk to drop a kiss on his forehead. “I have you to do that. Remind me to never do three Atypicals in a day again.”

He smiles at her, dropping his façade and just looking kind. “Will do, boss. I'd walk you to the station, but I have to meet Lou Ellen for dinner.”

He does seem sorry he can’t walk her, which is sweet, but it turns out Percy is waiting outside for her because he finished early. She grabs his hand and he lets her grumble about patients and removes a dampness she had forgotten about from her back. They get dirty looks from adults on the subway, and she catches a teenager videoing them for 'relationship goals' even though they were just sharing airpods, and one particularly brave little girl asks why there’s a grey streak in her hair.

Stress, Annabeth jokes, while Percy opts for some out of control story about holding up the sky that the girl absolutely loves, and he leans down to show off his matching one. Annabeth loves him, loves that he can turn such a terrible event into something fun and brave and heroic.

They arrive home just in time to miss the rain, and find Thalia lounging on their couch. A pretty normal occurrence, but she still jumps up to hug Annabeth as though she doesn’t live literally floor below her, which is nice. Her face still fits perfectly into Thalia’s neck, and Thalia still smells like nail polish and Annabeth's hair still sticks up with static from the electricity running below her skin.

“Did you know your doorbell doesn’t work?” Thalia asks when she pulls back. Percy goes in for a hug and she punches his shoulder.

Annabeth frowns. “No, actually. Nobody uses it- we all have keys.”

“She only has keys because she made a copy,” Percy points out, already moving into the kitchen. Thalia nods agreeably.

“What’s for dinner?” she asks, and Annabeth follows her to the kitchen.

Percy’s darting around with utensils that Annabeth has never seen before. “Get a job, Thalia.”

Thalia hops into the counter, swinging her leather clad legs. “Hey, my cult is absolutely a job. And-” She counts on her fingers. “I love chanting, I look great in robes, we get to sacrifice men.”

“It’s not as funny if you call it a cult too,” Annabeth cuts in, popping a grape into her mouth.

Thalia grins. “I know.”

She refuses to tell anyone what her job actually consists of, just that it’s only for woman and that her boss is offered a place on Forbes 30 Under 30 every year. Percy finds it all unbearably creepy, so Annabeth doesn’t mention that she was offered a place there a few years back. In complete honesty, it does seem a little creepy, but Thalia loves it, and she does have extremely flexible hours.

Unfortunately, this leads to her acting like she lives in their apartment. Annabeth sits on the counter across from her, careful to sit where Percy won’t need space to cook, and opens the window. Rain starts spilling in until Percy waves a hand lazily and it starts hitting an invisible barrier. Thalia scoffs and accuses him of faking hand movements when he uses his ability for attention, and Percy readily agrees, and Annabeth hums along to the beat up radio that she turned on to drown them out.

The kitchen fills with the smell of spices and the sound of bickering and Frank Ocean, and Annabeth breathes in the rain fresh air and smiles.

~~~~~

Annabeth’s on edge all day, and Percy has to remind her on separate occasions not to bite her nails. They both have the day off, and Annabeth spends most of it looking for her hair straightener. Her friends arrive at seven, and Percy pretends he ordered pizza for a full ten minutes until he’s validated by their complaints over the lack of his cooking.

Thalia bursts in late, already dressed for the night- scary and untouchable and out of everyone’s league, which is the look her band goes for. Rachel wolf whistles and smudges her eyeliner in the process, and Selina sighs and corrects it with a steady hand.

Annabeth’s been ready for at least half an hour, squatting awkwardly in the corner where she has her phone plugged in and idly weighing in on Selina's outfits, because she brought 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦, and has different shoes and pallets and earrings for each. Annabeth is dressed to the nines, obviously. She rarely gets the chance to go out anymore, and jumped at the chance to invite everyone to the apartment for pre-drinks. She already has enough alcohol in her system to feel excited, and drops her phone in favour of twisting around her living room, careful with her heels on the slick wooden floor. She props her chin on Rachel’s shoulder, who’s sitting on the back of the sofa, and watches her red curls twine around her own hair.

Rachel laughs and pats her head. “Looking hot, Annabeth.”

Annabeth kisses her cheek. “You too. Want a drink?”

Rachel has no makeup on, her hair is in a high ponytail and she dons mom jeans and a tight bandeau. She tries to dress down for nightclubs, not wanting to give off the wrong impression, but Annabeth’s telling the truth- she looks hot anyway. Rachel pretends to think and accepts the offer easily, and Annabeth wanders into the kitchen to grab another bottle of vodka from under the sink.

Thalia's standing by the open window, doesn’t notice her until Annabeth pokes her.

“Look at you, Beth!” she crows. “When did you turn twenty-one?”

Annabeth rolls her eyes. “I’m only three years younger than you. I just don’t like drinking.”

Thalia's eyes soften. “You deserve a good time, Annabeth. The world doesn’t depend on you.”

“Not on Sundays,” Annabeth agrees, thinking of her patients. Thalia frowns and points at her.

“Hey. None of that. Get your friends drunk and get lost.”

“Not your house,” Annabeth reminds her, but does as she’s told. Thalia needs time alone before a performance, and she’s happy to chat with anyone in her living room instead.

She deposits the vodka and a few glasses on her coffee table with a quick salute to Rachel and compliments Selina’s outfit choice before wandering over to Percy and Charles, who are standing by the doorway because all they had to do was shower and put on some variation of denim to be classified ready for a night out. Percy lights up as she nestles against his side, twirls her under his arm, and Annabeth swears them both to secrecy when she giggles.

Will steps out of the bathroom, pushing his phone back into his pocket, and joins them. He’s picked out his outfit with Annabeth over facetime, deciding to look as straight as possible to ward off men but wearing just enough rings to ward off women. She did a double take when he showed up at her door, and he shoved her playfully, saying it was a sacrifice made for love. Annabeth thinks of Nico, and then abruptly decides she doesn’t want to know her cousin’s love life, especially if it involves a patient.

Selina hops over with Rachel on her heels, each holding a drink and informing them that it’s officially a cool enough time to arrive at the club. Annabeth grabs Thalia from her existential crisis in the kitchen and Percy calls two Ubers and then they’re on the move.

~~~~~

Each step towards the club is accompanied by a sharp click from Annabeth and Selina’s heels. Thalias’s heavy boots provide an occasional thump, but she’s trying to keep in beat with a rhythm running through her head.

It steels her, this pound she can feel in her bones, this clicking that makes her ears perk up. She remembers visiting Greece one summer, all pristine white walls and bonfires and ceramic blue and she had loved it, but she’d be lying to herself if the strobe lights against the bleak concrete and stench of alcohol didn’t make her feel at home. Feel like herself, feel twenty-four for the first time maybe ever, something she hadn’t even noticed had been absent. Annabeth has unfiltered trauma and an organisation watching her every move, has patients who trust her to hold all their secrets, has a missing cousin who she’s constantly turning over her shoulder to address, has woken up sweaty and gasping after dreaming of the dead, bitten her tongue till it bled to hold back accusations and unanswerable questions.

Click. Click.

Thalia squeezes her hand and runs inside to meet her band, and Percy steps up to Annabeth’s side in her place, and Annabeth doesn't feel angry or guilty or afraid. She feels certain. 

Thalia refuses to play anywhere subpar, which surprisingly worked out in her favour- her band is well known and well received. Annabeth leaves her friends at the bar and grabs Percy pull him through the crowd, trying to distinguish 𝘖𝘥𝘺𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘺 from all the other scary attractive people. She elbows her way through a sea of leather and piercings and smooth limbs until they reach the elevated platforms used for live music.

Thalia spots her immediately and throws her arm around Annabeth’s shoulders. “There’s a band on before us, Beth, and I don’t want you to cheer for them at all.”

Annabeth laughs and pushes Thalia's arm off. “Hey Reyna, hey Cal!”

The other women look appropriately amused. 

“Are you ready for your lines?” Cal asks, shouting to be heard over the bass drop. Annabeth nods decisively, and Cal relaxes a little. They asked her to sing a few lines from the middle of the dance floor, and although they all trust her it’s obvious they know its a risk.

A man in black asks them to clear off the stage, then, because the first band is ready to come on. They’re still under twenty-one, Reyna explains, so they get the earlier time. They’ve also been playing together since they were fifteen, and have a huge following. Annabeth promises again to not cheer for them, but doesn’t approach the matter of dancing. Percy keeps his hand on the small of her back as she makes small talk, and she eventually takes the hint and lets him guide her to the dance floor.

An eye-crossing haze drifts around the dance floor, not smelling of smoke or the sickly sweet fruit of vape, and it makes everything look softer and brighter all at once.

“Can you believe the ginger guy is the rapper?” Percy yells into her ear, snaking his arms around her waist.

She’s not a good dancer, but Percy is, and between him taking the lead and the steady flow of drinks she improves until people mostly stop staring. They still get the occasional interruption- they’re 𝘩𝘰𝘵, and especially together, Annabeth tells Percy, and he fights a laugh and agrees- so when Annabeth feels a tap on her shoulder she already has a scathing retort on her tongue as she turns.

Piper McClean doesn’t take it personally. Neither does Jason.

Annabeth freezes, bats Percy until he stops dancing and pays attention to what’s happening around him. Percy grins when he sees Piper, the same grin he showed Annabeth when they were fourteen and about to do something stupid or dangerous, and pulls Piper into his space, and Annabeth watches as he spins her around and she draws a sparkle from his misaligned teeth. Piper laughs and tells him to grow up, and then introduces Jason.

“Damn, Annabeth,” he says, catching on straight away. “I can see why you went on a date with him.”

Jason coughs, and Piper swats Percy’s arm. “Hey, that’s my date now.”

Annabeth feels a fleeting urge to sink her head into her hands. “Nope. Not today. I’m getting another drink.”

“I’m coming,” Piper announces. “Boys, get to know one another. I’ve a feeling everything’s coming together soon.”

She grabs Annabeth’s hand and the crowd parts for her as she moves toward the bar. Piper’s magmatism seems to work both ways- there’s just something about a stunning woman with colourful eyes and a dress that hugs all her curves that triggers a fight or flight response, and even in this nightclub which hosts dozens of those Piper manages to stand out.

Stools become available the second they ask for drinks, and Piper leans forward and asks for shots.

“So,” she asks. “Date night?”

Annabeth shakes her head, smiling despite herself. “No, I just lost my other friends. Will is here but I won’t find him because he looks like a straight boy, and Selina and her boyfriend are here because her girlfriend can’t come to loud places anymore.”

Piper looks like she has several questions. She also looks pretty. Annabeth turns away and reaches for a shot, which was placed beside her at a very convenient time.

“And Rachel!” she adds after she’s thrown it back. “Rachel is here. She’s ginger.”

Piper splutters on her drink, coughs until her eyes are watery. “I almost went ginger in high school! I thought I was edgy but I think I just wanted attention.”

“You would have looked hot,” Annabeth assures her, clinking their next glasses together in a cheers motion. The music is louder, and she wants to dance again. She hops off the stool and takes Piper’s hand, pulling her into the midst of the crowd.

There’s a large gap for people waiting for the beat to drop, and Annabeth waits, antsy, at the edge. Piper has no such patience and pulls her into the middle, and for some reason everyone lets them occupy the space, and Piper is 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 a good dancer, moving fluidly and in beat and she’s warm and soft when she butts into Annabeth, and when the beat drops everyone hollers and falls in around them and Annabeth laughs and also gets her foot stood on.

Then Piper’s on the move again, bracelets digging into Annabeth’s skin where their wrists are locked together, and they find a quieter space to just shimmy their shoulders when Annabeth hears a voice.

Thalia Grace welcomes everyone and people cheer when they recognise her, and then retreats to the drums and Reyna steps forward, licking her lips and making impossible sounds on her electric guitar.

“𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯,” Reyna croons, and Annabeth sings along, having heard it played hundreds of times and loving it no less for it.

The crowd love it- it’s just the right mix of casual dancing and punching the air, and Annabeth listens intently. Piper has to remind her to dance, and Annabeth nods and steps and turns in beat with Thalia's drums, Cal’s bass, Reyna's sharp guitar and smooth voice.

The second song, though. It’s for the kind of people who can afford to be out on a Sunday night. It sends electric chills up Annabeth’s spine, and she can see Thalia's drums sparking, Reyna's ability picking up on it and her borrowed currents causing some effect on her electric guitar that makes the music come alive.

Piper starts jumping and screaming immediately, and the dance floor grows denser, and Annabeth struggles to pull a mini microphone from her bra. She shouts at Piper to make room for her, which works out because it’s Piper, and Annabeth takes several deep breaths to calm her heartbeat. She waits until they finish the bridge and switches the microphone on.

The music cuts. 

“𝘊𝘈𝘕 𝘠𝘖𝘜 𝘛𝘜𝘙𝘕 𝘜𝘗 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘉𝘈𝘚𝘚,” Annabeth cries, and a light swings onto her.

“𝘚𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭, 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦,” Reyna calls from the stage.

Annabeth throws back her head. “𝘐 𝘏𝘈𝘝𝘌 𝘈 𝘙𝘌𝘘𝘜𝘌𝘚𝘛 𝘛𝘏𝘈𝘛 𝘐'𝘋 𝘓𝘐𝘒𝘌 𝘛𝘖 𝘔𝘈𝘒𝘌!”

She flicks off the mike and tucks it back into her bra. 𝘖𝘥𝘺𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘺 continue the song, and the people around Annabeth cheer and push against her. Annabeth feels exhilarated, and Piper stares at her with wide eyes. 

“Do you know them?” she yells into Annabeth’s ear.

Annabeth grins and nods, and Piper swings to face the stage. “We made a mistake bringing our men here.”

Annabeth frowns and leans into her. “Hey. I’m engaged, remember.”

Piper scoffs. “What could Percy do that they can’t.”

Annabeth throws her hands into the air. “I don’t know! I’ve never known. He just- 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬.”

Piper jabs a finger into her chest. “That’s how you know!”

“How you know what?” Percy asks, sliding his hands around Annabeth’s waist. He’s already moving in time to the music, hips locked into hers. Annabeth turns and slides her arm around the back of his neck.

“You were incredible!” He tells her. “I would have been better, though.”

His hair is ruffled under his beanie, as though people have been trying to steal it all night, and his eyes are a deep grey that's striking against his dark skin. He has no eye bags, and Annabeth raises a hand to brush away a stray eyelash.

“How did your meeting with Superman go?” Annabeth asks, repeating herself until she’s at a volume where Percy can hear but Jason and Piper can’t.

Percy grimaces, then laughs. “We both tried to take the lead. He’s stubborn.”

“You have a thing for stubborn blondes,” Annabeth laughs, stepping closer, and Percy’s pupils expand.

“Yeah,” he breathes by her ear. “I do.”

Annabeth hears Cal’s voice take over, and the beat changes to something more relaxed, more suited to swaying and nodding. Percy runs his hands up and down her spine, giving her shivers, and she smiles against his neck. Beside them, Piper and Jason are actually dancing. They look good together, Jason’s classic gentleman aura with Piper’s keen enthusiasm, Piper just a fraction taller in her heels, and they’re both smiling at each other like no one else is worth looking at.

Annabeth glances back to see Percy looking at her like that, too. She doesn’t waste time blushing, just reaches up to press their mouths together.

“You’re my type,” she says when she pulls back, and Percy looks at her fondly.

“What were you drinking?”

Annabeth laughs, and Percy says he’s going to find Rachel and Will, who are dancing together and pretending to be a couple. Annabeth thinks they’re taking it too far, but she’s becoming somewhat immune to everyone in her life being ridiculously attractive, so maybe they do need to ward off drunk strangers.

She feels strangely cold without Percy, and decides to find Selina and Charles on account of losing them the second she entered the club. She starts moving away, shaking off a rogue hand until she recognises it as Piper's. Annabeth turns back to see Jason staring at the stage looking oddly transfixed, and Piper asks her desperately what the drummers name is.

“Thalia Grace,” she says, and Jason’s head whips around so fast Annabeth can feel the click. He looks like he’s about to say something, then bites his lip and disappears into the crowd.

“Men are weird,” Piper decides, and Annabeth agrees, stepping into Piper’s space to dance with her again. Selina and Charles are probably doing gross stuff against a wall anyway. The music cuts from the stage, and Annabeth takes the time to catch her breath as Reyna leans back from the mic, brushing her sweaty hair away from her forehead into something unfairly stylish.

“Okay,” she calls. “One more song before the closer!”

Reyna pauses to let the club fill with cheers, and Piper slaps Annabeth’s arm several times before swivelling on the spot and grabbing the attention of a tall guy. Annabeth sees frantic hand motions and then he’s leaning down and Piper’s on his shoulders, towering over the club.

“We’re taking suggestions!” Reyna says, tapping her manicure against her purple base. It matches her lip, Annabeth notices absently.

“Teenage Dirtbag!” Piper yells from the man's shoulders, and she’s impossible to say no to.

She swings her legs over his head and jumps to the floor, content to ignore him now that she doesn’t need his height, and grabs Annabeth’s hands as the opening chords ricochet down to their bones.

“I actually love early 2000s garage rock shit,” Piper admits in a rush. “Don’t tell anyone, I’m trying to go for a sexy mysterious look.”

Annabeth looks at the woman in front of her, with the huge hoop earrings and smooth brown skin and a dress that’s holding itself together by sheer force of will, and she struggles to connect her with the woman in her office who has ink stained hands and can’t sit properly and once fought a man in a Taco Bell parking lot.

“I love this song too!” she says eventually, and Piper beams and waves her arms around until they have more space for a wilder sort of dancing, a kind that includes failed jumps and a fishing line, and they collapse together halfway through the song, exhausted and exhilarated.

“Why do you pretend to be so grouchy and old?” Piper wheezes, and Annabeth thinks '𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘵.’

“I use my Work Brain at work,” she says, then backtracks. “I have two brains, and my Work Brain is all responsible and stuff. I don’t have a therapist, so I just told it to work out my fucked up shit itself.” 

She laughs, finding this hysterical. “What therapist needs a therapist? Anyway, I hate my Work Brain.” She jabs a finger into Piper’s chest. “It’s mean. It keeps secrets. It’s 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨.”

Piper nods. “I 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 this Annabeth.”

“I like her too,” Annabeth decides. “I don’t talk to her enough.”

That makes Piper splutter out more laughter, and they both bend over in the middle until they forget why they’re laughing, and then the last part of the song comes on and Piper sings the girl’s part and Annabeth sings the normal part, and when it’s over they decide to get fresh air.

There's a unsanctioned outdoor area mostly used for smoking, and Annabeth spots Will’s one curls as they walk down the steps. She pokes Piper to point him out, and Piper looks forward and slips.

She tumbles to the ground and cries out in pain, and there’s a sudden rush to get back inside as people try to avoid what they think is a fight. Annabeth drops to Piper’s side and is greeted with a long gash across her forearm. It’s bleeding heavily, must have caught on the edge of the metal, and Annabeth is sober between one blink and the next.

Will runs up to them, inhaling softly when he sees the blood. He furrows his brow, a look Annabeth recognises as him starting to distribute Piper’s pain evenly across the club. He could spread it so thin nobody would feel it, and for a split second Annabeth relaxes. Then she notices Piper's face.

“No, Will, stop,” she gasps, and he does, confused.

Piper is staring at the blood with her eyes glazed over, and she’s not making a sound. Annabeth snaps her fingers in front of her face and Piper doesn’t react. Will swears softly.

Annabeth closes her eyes and relents.

“Give me your shirt,” she snaps at Will, who pulls it off without complaint. Annabeth wraps it around Piper’s arm, determined to slow the bleeding.

“Find the first aid kit,” she tells Will, and then turns back to Piper. “Piper, listen to me. You’re real. You’re a real girl and that’s your blood and you’re not made of porcelain and you 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘱 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵.”

She slaps her once, briskly, and Piper still doesn’t react.

“Will said you were out here,” Percy comments. “He’s shirtless, and I think you’re right about the blond thing.”

Annabeth beckons him down the stairs without turning to see him, and he must realise something’s gone wrong because he jogs down to her side.

“Gather some water from the air,” Annabeth instructs. “I don’t want her to go unconscious.”

Percy's eyes dip down to Will’s blood soaked t-shirt. His mouth sets itself in a grim line.

“Take it off,” he says. “Circe.”

He’s referring to a fake recruitment they were sent on when they were thirteen, and Annabeth starts ignores her common sense and unpeels the makeshift bandage. If he could trust her with his life when he was thirteen- and 𝘎𝘰𝘥, had they ever been that young?- she can trust him with Piper’s life now.

Although the t-shirt only provided a thin layer the bleeding gets heavier without it. Annabeth steels herself and resides to telling Piper to snap out of it. Beside her, Percy starts breathing heavily.

Annabeth glances at the cut, and before her eyes it clots up and stops bleeding. Annabeth’s breath catches in her throat, and she looks away from Piper for the first time to gauge Percy’s reaction.

“How did you do that?” she whispers, because he doesn’t look surprised the way he does when he’s flying blind and trusting his gut. He looks tired. There’s a steady best from inside as Cal sings about making money and being dead inside.

Percy closes his eyes and raises a shoulder in a half shrug. “Blood’s liquid. Water.”

Annabeth raises a hand to her mouth. There’s a clattering and Will runs down the metal steps, supplies in hand. He comes to a stop when he sees Piper’s arm already clotted, but his medical training kicks in and he gets to work without asking questions.

Annabeth goes home.

~~~~~

She locks the door and double checks it twice, and gathers the loose makeup brushes and empty glass until looking around her apartment doesn’t give her a headache. Percy waits until she’s finished because he knows she needs this sense of control, and instead he pours them both a cold glass of water.

“Okay,” Annabeth starts, once they’re sitting at the kitchen table, stealing one of Percy’s hoodies from the back of a chair and slipping it over her head. “How long have you known you could control blood?”

“About a month,” Percy admits. “I can’t really control it, though. I don’t know what I’m doing- I just started bleeding while training once and managed to stop it.”

Annabeth sinks her head into her lap. “Any other surprise abilities?”

Percy runs his tongue along the edge of his teeth. “I didn’t let myself think about it for ages. I don’t want to be the Chosen One, y'know? I didn’t want to buy into what they said about me.”

“But?” Annabeth prompts.

Percy sighs. “I think my abilities are linked to liquid, not water.”

Annabeth swallows. “That could be huge, Percy.”

He smiles bitterly. “I know.”

There’s so much to unpack in those two words. Percy was told when he was twelve that he had the potential to be the most powerful Atypical alive, and was forced to undergo several tests over the years. Annabeth stayed by his side for most of it, but she can’t fully understand how much it took a toll on him. If he’s right, and his abilities cover more ground than thought possible, the OF would find a way to back out of the contract he tricked them into signing all those years ago.

The contract that allowed him to go to college, to become a physiotherapist. The contract that allowed him to accept Annabeth’s proposal and buy an apartment with her. The contract that allows him to live. If he’s right, he’ll be marched straight back into their compound.

Annabeth takes his hand. “It’ll be fine,” she assures him, and he kisses her cheek.

“There’s something I should tell you, too,” Annabeth says, steeling herself. Percy frowns but stays silent.

“Grover and I have been in contact. We're going to rescue Magnus.”

She watches Percy’s face, recognises shock, stark terror, and dawning comprehension until it settles into a grim determination. There’s a light in his eyes she had almost forgotten about.

“You must have had a good reason not to tell me yet, you’re both smart enough to know the stakes,” he says agreeably. “What’s the plan?”

Annabeth coughs water onto the table, and hastily wipes it off the shiny wood with the sleeve of Percy’s hoodie. “What do you mean?”

Percy grins, crooked. “What’s the plan, Wise Girl? When are we doing this? I miss the little prick.”

“Of course you miss him, he worshipped you,” Annabeth snaps, then- “Wait, you want to be a part of this?”

“Of course,” Percy says, sounding hurt. He tries to pull back his hand but Annabeth holds it tighter.

“You told me you were done with quests, and fighting. You told me you wanted a normal life.” Annabeth’s voice cracks. “You told me to 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦.”

Percy blinks, then in a swift motion pulls her into his lap. Annabeth falls against him, limp. “I’m done with their stupid testing,” he says fiercely. “I’m done with their wild goose chases and their problems that I had to solve. But Annabeth,” and his voice goes so soft. “We were kind of unstoppable, weren’t we?”

Annabeth hiccups, nods.

“I want to pull of the impossible with you and Grover again. God, I’ve been training and training and it’s not the same unless there’s something to train for. And-”

He kisses her brow, then raps his knuckles against it. “I don’t remember saying that to you, but I definitely didn’t grow up with kind of Annabeth who would ever listen to my shitty advice.”

Annabeth sighs and stands, wipes the tears from her eyes. “Okay, I get it. You convinced me. It’s late, I’ll tell you the plan in the morning. You won’t like it.”

Percy's responding smile is too bright for 2am. “That was my line.”

“I know,” Annabeth says, yawning. “Everything is backwards these days.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> annabeth tries to be grouchy but smiles every other line
> 
> clarisse is here!!! her interactions with annabeth are based off a watered down version of 'put you in your place' from the musical,,, i feel like they're just similar enough to grate off each other.
> 
> the teenage dirtbag scene is a direct reference to thegoodthebadandthenerdy fic 'oh how she rocks' bc it's the best fic on this site
> 
> and lastly, Odyssey sings the following songs in order:  
> Pick your Poison- Black Pistol Fire  
> Earthquake- Family Force 5 (annabeths line)  
> Yoko Ono- Moby Rich  
> Dead Inside- Younger Hunger
> 
> ((cal is calypso if you didn't catch that))


	3. #48/#44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for mentions of transphobia, death, and a blink and you'll miss it torture mention

Her alarm goes off an hour earlier than usual, and Annabeth regrets it until she stands in front of the mirror and sees dark bags under her eyes and her hair looking like a bird tried to make a nest but ultimately decided it was enough of a mess already.

She sighs and throws a towel over the shower door. A sharp trill followed by a long groan rings out of the bedroom, and she sticks her head back in, buying her lip.

“Sorry!” she whispers. “Forgot to turn off my backup alarm!”

Percy grumbles and flips over to face her. “How can you go to work today?”

“I can’t take days off because of a hangover,” she reminds him. “Go back to sleep, we'll talk when I’m home.”

“About your super-secret plan?” Percy asks, suddenly more awake. “Okay, but I’m holding you to that.”

Annabeth hums. “That's weird, it’s usually me holding you against something.”

Percy makes a noise like he’s maybe choked on his own tongue, and Annabeth laughs quietly and showers the stench of alcohol and bad decisions from her skin. She stalks back into their bedroom in a towel, unsure if Percy has fallen back asleep and wishing she had thought to bring a change of clothes out, when suddenly her hair is dry.

Percy gives a little wave from the bed, and she blows a kiss before quickly getting changed and fishing through her jewellery box for her necklace- an old thing she used to wear religiously, covered in beads for every 'mission' she pulled off. Luke used to paint them by hand for her, and when he died Annabeth couldn’t bring herself to wear it nor throw it away.

She runs her fingers over the beads, brushing loose dust off them, and slips it over her neck. It feels weighty and familiar and it doesn’t burn her skin.

“Your bracelets are in here, Percy,” she says, mostly to herself.

He sits up. “My leather ones?”

Annabeth nods absently, flipping the worn leather over in her hands. Percy thanks her for finding them and lies back down, content to sleep. She leaves the room quietly and takes coffee to go, slips on a soft beige jacket, scribbling a quick note to Percy to remind him to wish Sadie Kane a happy birthday. He had forgotten, once, which resulted in her signing him up for Scientology, and they’re still getting emails.

She arrives at her office early, and waltzes right over to the reception desk and precedes to kick her feet up. Will walks in twenty minutes later, looking a breath away from dying and unsurprised to see her in his seat.

“I don’t understand how you don’t get hangovers,” he mutters, dumping his laptop bag on her lap.

Annabeth smiles up at him. ‘They’re scared of me.”

“Everyone’s scared of you,” Will points out, and she gets out of his seat without a fight for the compliment.

The door to her office has been long fixed, but she still opens it gingerly. Jason is her first appointment, but she can’t imagine he’ll show up on time after their adventures last night, so she gets to work reorganizing her supplies cupboard, careful to separate her mundane supplies from the voice distorters and defibrillators.

There’s a tentative knock on her door, and Annabeth looks at it in surprise.

“Come in,” she calls, and Jason steps inside, looking classically handsome and we’ll put together, and also far too excited to be in a therapist's office at 9am.

“Morning, Dr. Chase!” he says, chipper.

Annabeth blinks. “Good morning, Jason. I didn’t expect you this early.”

Jason takes a seat, and Annabeth hesitantly sits opposite him, placing her notebook on her lap. “I hope you don’t mind,” he says. “I can come back later if that’s easier for you.”

Annabeth considers the fact that he sat in the armchair before saying that.

“No,” she tells him. “I don’t feel sick from drinking last night, if that’s what you’re referring too.”

Jason nods, his glasses slipping down his nose. “Me neither. I had to sneak away from my family when I was young and built up an alcohol immunity so they wouldn’t be able to tell in the morning.”

There’s a pause.

“Sorry. I don’t like beating around the bush.”

He looks so relaxed, so completely ready to tell her everything, and running off his initial statement Annabeth knows he has stories to tell. She has no idea how to approach this- he wanted to have sessions with her, but didn’t distinguish whether he wanted Atypical training or therapy.

“Let’s start with an icebreaker, maybe,” Annabeth decides. “Tell me three things about yourself.”

She doesn’t ask 'why today?’ because she’s not sure he knows the answer.

Jason nods. “My favourite colour's purple, I can fly, and I’ve had multiple therapists before, which is why I get to the point straight away.”

He looks out the window. Annabeth waits. “None of them worked out, actually. The sooner I tell them about me the sooner I can gauge if they’re worth it.”

His phone buzzes, and he jumps. “Sorry,” he offers, shaking his head. “That’s Percy. He’s been texting me Superman memes as soon as we swapped numbers.”

Annabeth smiles. “I know the feeling. He’s been giving me live updates on his Animal Crossing town for weeks.”

She didn’t realise how much tension was in Jason’s position until it ebbs away, and he settles into the armchair with his legs as far apart as possible. It’s a position that looks sleazy on men on the subway, but Jason just looks attentive.

“Weird question,” Annabeth starts, “but I never caught your surname.”

Jason shrugs. “I didn’t throw it.”

Annabeth blinks. Jason smiles prettily. The silence hangs in the air.

“We should just jump right in,” Jason suggests. “My mom committed suicide when I was a kid, is that a good place to start?”

“I’m sorry,” Annabeth says immediately, training kicking in. “That’s a terrible thing for anyone to have to go through. Do you have any other family?”

Jason wrinkles his nose. “I’m working on that,” he says, and Annabeth feels like she’s missing several vital parts to this conversation. “I was sent to another family, who were delighted to have 'such a lovely little girl.’”

He shrugs. “As you can tell, that didn’t work out for them.”

Annabeth’s mind whirs, thinking of therapists that didn’t work out and the fact that he didn’t claim them as family.

“I’m happy you made it out of there,” she settles on. “Know that there are people working to remove intolerant therapists from the system. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”

“You can’t,” Jason agrees. “I don’t need you for gender therapy, or anything, I worked that out on my own. I’m surprisingly balanced.” He counts on his fingers. “Biological mom committed suicide, might have a biological sister. Transphobic foster family, president of the GSA and student body in college. Tried to eat a stapler when I was two, can fly.”

Annabeth looks up from her notebook. “I don’t see how those last two are related.”

Jason looks uncharacteristically serious. “I don’t understand it either, but it’s definitely there.”

“Well, it’s good that you can see the silver lining in situations, Mr. Grace,” Annabeth says, and Jason goes stock still.

“How did you know?” He asks, pale.

Annabeth reaches to take his hand, but he pulls back. She grimaces and tries to explain.

“Between your interest in Thalia last night, your mentions of a sister, and frankly frighteningly similar body language, it wasn’t a long shot.”

Jason sighs. “I forgot that Piper said you’re smart.”

“Feel free to forget again,” Annabeth offers. “It gives me an advantage.”

She stands up and moves over to the windows, shutting them to rid the draughts and simultaneously giving Jason some breathing room. She wanders back to her seat slowly, and when she sits Jason smiles politely, his usual warmth dialled down.

“My name is Annabeth Chase,” she says evenly. “I’m terrified of spiders, I'm naturally blonde, and I’ve come first in every Kahoot game I’ve played.”

Jason takes it in his stride, grateful for even the slivers of honesty, and offers in turn that he’s naturally brunet and has a suspicion Thalia is too. Annabeth opens her notebook and asks if he’d like to fill it out together.

Patient Name: Jason Grace  
Class: 2:5  
Ability: Jason can fly. Shortcomings include that it seems to be similar to running- he cannot do it continuously without building muscle strain and discomfort that eventually forces him to stop.

“That’s not true,” Jason says sharply, and Annabeth closes her notebook with a snap.

“Can you be sure?” she asks. “How far have you been able to push yourself if always stuck in public?”

Jason frowns and tells her a long-winded story about falling down the Grand Canyon, and she’s simultaneously impressed and worried that he’s so blasé about it.

“I want you to hover vertically until you feel uncomfortable,” Annabeth tells him, and Jason complies easily. He crosses his arms and puts them in his pockets, fixes his glasses and scratches his neck. He never says when.

“Switch to a fully horizontal position,” Annabeth tries. “Like a plank.”

Jason moves effortlessly, and his glasses fall off his face. Annabeth holds back a laugh and places them on her desk.

“The windows are one-way, if you were wondering,” she comments, and Jason hums, a strained sound.

“I was wondering,” he confirms. “But I trust you. Our first interactions were a date and a very nice night out that had us admiring each others' dates.”

Annabeth sits back down. “Get down. You barely managed to get that sentence out.”

Jason slumps back into his seat. “I was fine, it’s just hard to talk when you’re holding a plank.”

He’s breathing heavily. Annabeth purses her lips. “We can’t test it here, but basic physics suggests you’d be able to fly faster horizontally rather than vertical.”

Jason considers this, then nods. He’s squinting without his glasses, which adds to his overall endearment. It’s clear he hasn’t thought about his ability other than the fact he has it, and although he’s come far on his own Annabeth knows how to improve him.

How to 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 him.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Jason blurts out, interrupting her train of thought, “why are you a therapist? I understand as a cover job, but what’s the overlap between training Atypicals and telling us that daddy issues aren’t our fault?”

Annabeth shakes her head at the phrasing. “I can’t say much due to doctor-patient privacy, but I used to know a time traveller with terrible anxiety. Classic catch-22 situation- she panicked about going back in time, which would cause her body to believe there was imminent danger and send her back in time as a defence mechanism. Another patient needs constant control, and her ability is to borrow the ability of other Atypicals close to her, often involuntarily, which could trigger emotional relapse.”

Jason looks like he wants to take notes. “That’s 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨- are abilities tied with emotional states?”

Annabeth tilts her hand in a so-so gesture, and Jason looks dissatisfied. 

“They also have a tendency to be ADHD,” she says carefully. “I don’t suppose you know if you are?”

Jason shakes his head, thoughtful. “No. I’ve wondered, but thought self diagnosis is just dramatics.”

That’s the kind of answer that makes Annabeth suspect he 𝘪𝘴. Atypicals, especially Atypicals with physical abilities such as flight, are programmed to be more high strung and ready for action, which often translates to ADHD. Part of the reason her family believed she was Atypical so long was because of her own symptoms.

Annabeth makes a note of the possibility and then puts her notebook aside.

“I suggest you take off a layer,” she quips. “I want you to hold a plank- without flying- for as long as possible. Any particular song requests?”

Jason stands and slips off his soft jumper to reveal a tight fitting t-shirt underneath. Annabeth hadn’t noticed last night, but he’s fit, and when the t-shirt rides up she can see words scrawled over his abdomen with a font she can’t read, black ink stark against his pale skin. She watches as he settles into position, much easier on the wooden floor.

“Queen?” He grins up at her, no strain.

“As your therapist I can’t make a mean comment,” Annabeth informs him before opening up Spotify. Jason watches her phone with remarkably keen eyes.

“What phone is that?” he asks. “Your secretary has one too, and Percy.”

The answer to that particular question is always tucked under Annabeth’s tongue. “Some Chinese brand. It has good cameras.”

Jason nods. A bead of sweat finally breaks over his brow, but he shows no signs of relenting. Considering how he had struggled while airborne, Annabeth is surprised he’s so steady.

It’s easy to notice that he doesn’t have experience with other Atypicals- most people would underperform their physical prowess and blame the struggle in the air on simply being unfit. A blow to pride, maybe, but has the significant perk of the ability seeming to have no weaknesses.

It’s hard to tell if Jason is honest or incapable of not showing off.

Annabeth lets the songs pour out as she guides Jason through a core workout, casting through her memory for Percy rambling about his work for inspiration.

Jason doesn’t complain, just takes everything she gives. Therapy is supposed to be an ebb and flow, a push and pull, a 𝘕𝘪𝘤𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴 𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘗𝘪𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘐 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵, but Annabeth’s a pusher, and Jason responds to being pushed to his limit.

“Time,” she says, and Jason stands from his admittedly odd position and shakes out his legs. Annabeth walks to the water dispenser and offers him a glass silently. Jason thanks her and drinks it all in one go, collects his sweater and glasses.

“Thank you,” he says at the door, and opens it swiftly.

“Jason?” comes a voice from reception, and Annabeth peers out. 

Nico di Angelo is leaning over Will’s desk on a 𝘔𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘺, and he looks shocked to see Jason, who in turn looks delighted.

“Hey man! I didn’t know you’d be here!”

Jason's tone conveys pure excitement, as does the way he breezes across the room to pull Nico into a hug. Will looks slightly alarmed, an expression Annabeth is sure is mirrored on her own face.

Nico permits the hug for a record-breaking ten seconds before tensing up, and Jason immediately drops him and stands back. Annabeth tentatively joins them, unsure if she likes this new information.

Jason smiles his golden retriever smile. “Nico and I knew each other in college!”

Nico shrugs. He’s almost a foot shorter than Jason, and looks both disgruntled and comfortable in his presence. “Only for a year. Besides,” he glances at Jason. “Everyone knew you.”

Jason throws his hand out. “Dude, we were friends.”

“Don’t call me dude,” Nico grumbles, but he’s fighting a smile.

Will looks thoughtful. He raises his eyebrow ever so slightly without looking at Annabeth, and she knows what he’s asking. Jason and Nico knowing each other could prove a hindrance to her sessions, but it could also be immensely useful should she need to use them. Annabeth responds to Will with a quick twist of her lips and his gaze relaxes as they both turn back to the conversation. 

Jason turns back to Annabeth. “Small world, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Annabeth replies, thinking of all the overlaps with her patients.

Will ducks under the desk and resurfaces with a jacket. “You don’t have another patient for two hours, Annabeth, so I’m going out for coffee.”

Annabeth looks back and forth between him and Nico. “Is 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 why you’re here on a Monday?”

Nico reddens. “I don’t have another lecture until two.”

“Unbelievable,” Annabeth mutters.

Jason ruffles Nico’s hair and announces that he has to go, but he’ll be keeping in touch. He walks with such lightness that Annabeth isn’t surprised he can fly- he looks like any of his steps could just catch on the air and carry him forwards.

As soon as the elevator closes behind him Annabeth reaches for her own jacket behind Will’s desk, who in turn gives her an offended look. 

“I forgot breakfast,” she explains. “You know how I get.”

Will softens immediately. “Okay, fine. You can come.”

“She’s coming?” Nico says, indignant. “We’re bringing my therapist.”

“We're bringing my stupid cousin who won’t take her ADHD meds,” Will corrects.

Annabeth narrows her eyes. “I’m willing to let that slide. Besides, why does it matter if I come? It’s not like it’s a date.”

She directs the last part to Nico, who blusters and blushes but eventually just falls silent. Will coughs. Annabeth swings her handbag over her shoulder and starts walking towards the elevator, and after a second’s hesitation she hears footsteps fall into line behind her.

~~~~

Will and Nico do most of the talking, idle small talk that Annabeth isn’t bothered keeping up with. Will notices her silence and grabs her hand, and she uses her spare one to fasten her buttons against the breeze. Despite Nico’s original complaints, he seems at ease, starts chatting away to himself about a card game he played when he was young as he guides them though the streets. Annabeth swings her arms as she walks, fingers locked with Will’s under a slate-grey sky.

They end up in some quaint organic sustainably sourced vegan option cafe. Annabeth wants to hate it, but there’s calming music and the smell of coffee, and when she sinks into a suspiciously stained couch she pulls out three pens from the creases. Nico silently takes the least chewed one and slips it into his pocket. Annabeth rolls out her neck and shoulders and slumps into the seat, listening half heartedly to Will’s breakfast recommendations because the menu's in calligraphy that she can’t read. A young girl with swishy hair takes their orders, and true to his word Will gets coffee and Nico gets a drink that will probably give him diabetes and rack up an impressive dentist bill.

“Well,” Will says, cracking his knuckles and grinning across the table at them. “Isn’t this fun?”

“Not really,” Nico replies. “It’s kind of a personal rule for me not to be outnumbered by blondes.”

“Runs in the family,” Will shrugs. “Fred, Emma, Aubrey, Annabeth here, Randolph-”

Nico looks concerned. “Randolph’s not a real name.”

Annabeth swallows the lump in her throat and pulls one of her curls thoughtfully. “Neither is Annabeth, I don’t think. My teachers always wanted to call me Anna.”

Her insistence for the use of her full name in school quickly became her least troublesome trait, up to and including refusing to sit 'like a lady', walking out of a classroom at the incorrect teachings of the founding of America, and interrupting an eighth grade table quiz because the use of riddles as questions is an insult to everyone’s IQ.

She finds her lips twitching at the memories, and Will must know where her train of thought went because he shakes his head firmly. 

Annabeth shrugs and leans forward to examine the tiny jukebox at the table.

“It works,” Nico says. “But only one song.”

He reaches over and flicks the side. Annabeth hears whirring as the machine struggles to produce sound, and let’s out a huff of laughter when she recognises the song.

“They all play old timey shit,” Nico informs her, slumping back into his usual slouched posture. “Will always wants this table because it’s his favourite song.”

Annabeth turns her whole body sideways to look at him. “Are you implying you come here together often?”

Nico shifts his eyes to the door, which chimes merrily as a new customer bustles in. The cafe is actually surprisingly full for a late Monday morning, Annabeth notices, young people with loose laughter and nose piercings tucked into nooks and crannies.

Will follows her gaze. “How do you think they perceive us?” he asks, and Annabeth allows the obvious change of subject.

“College students?” she offers, but Nico shakes his head.

“The way you’re dressed, you're definitely at work.”

Annabeth pulls at the hem of her sweater, frowning. Will looks like he’s trying to hold back a laugh, which is completely unfair because secretaries aren’t obliged to look calm and professional and also he’s wearing 𝘩𝘦𝘳 denim jacket.

“Throuple,” Will suggests with inappropriate eyebrows, and Annabeth gags. She can feel Nico squirm beside her.

Will's still laughing to himself when the waitress drops off their order. As expected, Nico’s smells sickly sweet, and he pull it towards himself as though to ward off imaginary competition, or maybe stray toddlers on the hunt for sugar.

Annabeth, in a point of frustration, had told Will to surprise her, and looks down quizzically at her avocado toast.

“Cheers,” Will offers. “Hope you’re not awkward about eating alone, because you’re finishing that.”

He's using his doctor voice, and Annabeth drums her fingers on the soft wood of the table before determining that arguing would be pointless and picks up her fork.

“Do you just... forget to eat?” Nico asks after a few minutes of silence.

Annabeth swallows and clears her throat before answering. “My fiancé got up later than me, and he’s usually my reminder.” She drinks some water, mostly because she doesn’t know what to do with her hands. “It’s a symptom that no one really talks about, but bad memory is as common as fidgeting.”

“It’s weird you don’t have ADHD, Nico,” Will says thoughtfully. “It’s so common in. Um. Italians.”

His attempts to cover his tracks is questionable, to say the least. He doesn’t have a tell for lying, but he’s also terrible at it.

Nico fights a smile. “I see. That’s us Italians, always moving our hands.”

Annabeth chokes. Will laughs loudly, attracting stares from other customers, to whom he waves cheerfully. A waiter, mistaking the action as a beckoning, darts over with a forced customer service smile, hopefully looking nothing like Annabeth during a session.

Nico waves him off apologetically, and they fall back into silence. Annabeth pushes her plate away and tries to think of small talk. Admittedly, it’s never been a big factor in her life, since most of her friends she’s made either through camp when she was younger or from Percy.

“So, Nico,” she settles on. “How’s your ouija board thing working out for you.”

“Fine. I keep it in my dorm, try it out every day. Not really working, though.” And oh, she 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 them smart.

“Strange,” she responds. “I didn’t think it was a fluke one.”

Nico smiles wryly. “It’s definitely not fake. I guess I just don’t really want to talk to spirits.”

He looks comfortable talking about his new ability to commune with ghosts, which is nice. Considering his first few sessions where he thought he was going crazy, and then insisted he was hallucinating, and finally reached the conclusion that it would all go away if he refused to talk about it for a few months. He’s also shifted, slightly and perhaps unintentionally, to fit the image someone who regularly chats with the undead- he’s all dark hair and hollow cheeks and silver rings adjourning his fingers, and Annabeth remembers when he was still in high school and she gave him an old shirt of hers, how the orange has looked so bright against his pale skin and he had worn it religiously until he never wore it again.

“You know they’re not inherently evil, right?” Annabeth asks.

“Yeah,” Nico replies. “I just need... motivation, I guess.”

He gets this faraway look his eyes, twirling his teaspoon over his knuckles and leaving a faint trail of sugar. Will catches her eye and shakes his head ever so slightly. Work and play, Annabeth reminds herself, and makes a point of checking her watch.

“We should be going soon,” she says, and Nico jumps up and brushes off his jeans, announcing that he has to go to the bathroom but he’ll be right back.

Annabeth throws a pack of sugar at her cousin as soon as Nico’s out of earshot.

“I thought you said you weren’t dating him!”

Will throws it back. “I’m 𝘯𝘰𝘵. He’s just a friend.”

Annabeth shakes her head incredulously. “I can’t believe you.”

“Can’t believe what?” Nico asks, sliding back into the seat. “Don’t give me that look- I just washed my hands.”

Will opens his mouth, and Annabeth stamps on his foot under the table to shit him up. Will knows this, and for unfathomable reasons sticks out his tongue and turns to Nico.

“She can’t believe we’re not dating.”

Nico closes his eyes and nods to himself. “Yeah. Okay. Do you remember when I was on love with your fiancé and we never talked because it was too awkward?”

He waits for Annabeth’s confused affirmation before looking her dead in the eye.

“I miss that.”

Will bursts out into clean peals of laughter, and Annabeth joins him when she sees the smile threatening to tip Nico’s expression into something brighter.

~~~~~

She almost collapses into her apartment that evening, shrugging off her jacket and several layers of contempt. She skip the door to the kitchen and instead goes straight to the living room, throwing open the blinds that Percy prefers to leave closed when he’s alone. The landscape is painted with thick strokes of grey, concrete and slick metals and endless, rolling clouds that take up the whole skyline.

She stands still, taking deep breathes. Percy approaches silently, placing a hand over her shoulder, and together they pretend they’re watching the skyline.

“Okay.” Annabeth says eventually. “Okay.”

She turns and hugs him. “Hey. How was work?”

Percy huffs into her hair. “Same as ever. Nothing interesting.”

Annabeth hums. “You’re allowed to talk about things you like. It’s cute when you ramble.”

Percy pulls back. He furrows his brow as he weighs his options, but shakes his head. “Nah, it’s okay. I’ll start making dinner and you can tell me your plan.”

He starts walking to the kitchen, and Annabeth falls into step. She takes her usual perch by the windowsill, swinging her legs and fiddling anxiously with her necklace until Percy puts the carving knife into her hands and asks her to sharpen it.

Content once her hands are busy, Annabeth contemplates how to start. Percy's bustling around, but she can tell from the set of his shoulders that he’s preparing himself for bad news.

“I’ll tell you.” She starts. “Just- don’t use knives for a bit. You’ll cut your hand off.”

Percy snorts. “You wish.”

Annabeth smiles despite herself, then takes a breath. “You know that they’re keeping Magnus in the OF labs, right? It’s because his ability is rare, and useful. Grover thinks that, um. That they keep Atypicals like him in a sleep like state until they’re needed.”

Percy nods. He’s not looking at her, instead hovering over a pot and tossing in assorted spices. Annabeth waits until she realises he’s not going to offer input until she’s done, and thinks back to when she pitched plans to him and Grover during camp training- and on rarer occasions, recruitment missions

“Rachel Dare has the ability to never get lost,” she says, and can hear the change in her voice, can feel her back straighten. “By extension, she can sketch out blueprints. Once we have the blueprints to the OF labs we can learn the layout and deduce where Magnus is being kept.

“The main issue is waking him. Grover says the Atypicals kept in that state can stay like that for years, but don’t age. Best case scenario, it’s cyro sleep. That’s powered by water, so you could potentially wake him.” She bites her lip. “But it could also be something more unconventional. Grover says they don’t age, so my guess is they’re kept on death’s doorstep- the grey area where they’re not decaying not progressing.”

She puts down the knife and slumps back, pressing against the cool window. Percy washes his hands and faces her, intensity written into the line of his face.

“Got it,” he says. “Let me ask Rachel for the blueprints, she thinks you’re scary and up to something.”

“I 𝘢𝘮 up to something,” Annabeth points out.

Percy points a spatula at her. “I know. Others don’t have to.”

He runs his tongue across his teeth. “Cyro sleep. That’s the ice thing Walt Disney did, yeah? I could probably break that. We'll need more manpower, though. The OF labs... It’s not going to be an easy fight.”

“I know,” Annabeth whispers. “This is the part you won’t like.”

She steels herself, evens her voice. “I could use the Atypicals from my work.”

Percy nods. “Will you be able to live with yourself if you involve them?”

“I think so,” she admits. “Does that make me a monster?”

She watches his hands tense, stark veins sticking out of the scarred brown skin. “I-” He clears his throat. “I don’t think anyone survives that place without becoming a little monstrous.”

Annabeth subconsciously runs her fingers over the raised skin on her lower back. It's her most prominent scar, a stroke of uneven paleness that look so wrong on a living being. At sixteen she had known the blow would kill Percy, and had been willing to sacrifice herself to save him. Annabeth wonders when she became prepared to sacrifice other people for her loved ones.

“You need time.” She says aloud, because she recognises his unearthly stillness, his troubled eyes.

Percy nods. “I just...”

Annabeth slides off the counter and hugs him tightly. “Hey. I’m the one with the ideas, you’re the one with the execution, remember? We'll find a better way- if there’s anything the bastards did right it’s to give us no time limit.”

“What if we can’t?” Percy says, and his voice is strained and tight. “God, Annabeth, what if we can’t do it without involving other people? Where do I draw the line?”

Annabeth pulls back to see him biting his nails, eyes darting around frantically. He rips a nail down to the quick, and she winces as blood wells.

“Percy,” she says, urging him to snap out of it. “Its fine. We’re out, you don’t have to go back.”

“Sixteen people died, Annabeth, and they all looked to me for guidance. I.”

He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I’m going to call my mom.”

Annabeth purses her lips. “Ethan Nakamura. Michael Yew. Lee Fletcher.” Her voice cracks. “Luke.”

Percy looks at her, really looks at her. “I know their names.”

“So do I,” Annabeth says firmly. “I know their names, just like you do, and I think of them every day, just like you do.”

She takes a step towards him and he falls forward, pressing his face into her neck. Annabeth weaves her arms around him and squeezes as he shudders.

They stay like that until Annabeth smells the bitter scent of burning, and Percy let’s out a weak laugh when she sneezes. He straightens, flicking his hand and evaporating the damp patch left on her neckline, before moving towards the oven.

“All this time as a physiotherapist made me soft,” he comments, laughing wetly.

Annabeth pulls the skin of her elbow. “I like you soft.”

He turns to smile at her. “And I like you sharp. I just need to. To prepare myself, I guess.”

Annabeth takes a breath. Percy turns back to the stove. “I’m gonna call my mom. Minecraft open on my laptop if you want to play.”

Annabeth’s trying to rebuild Olympus. It’s difficult, because there’s virtually no information and also Percy keeps filling it with dogs. Still, it’s entertaining and satisfying and one of the healthier coping mechanisms, and her hyperfixation laches onto it long enough for Percy to have time to himself.

They eat at the kitchen table, a round thing with a colourful tablecloth and too many chairs for whoever announces the apartment their new home each week. Annabeth takes mismatched glasses from the cupboard and an old glass lemonade bottle filled with cold water from the fridge, darting around Percy to set them down on the table.

“Is Grover okay?” Percy asks suddenly. “He always tells me he is, but I just realised the lines are probably bugged.”

“How would I know if the lines are bugged?” she asks innocently, cocking her head.

Percy raises an eyebrow. “Because you’re the smartest person I know and probably had special spy phones set up since we were twelve?”

She lets silence hang for a beat, then smiles. “Fifteen, actually. While you were on that secret mission and all the officials acted like you didn’t exist.”

“I remember that,” Percy says, shaking his head fondly. “Finally crossed 'crashing my own funeral' off my bucketlist.”

Annabeth stares. “Why can’t you be normal and just want to visit Paris?”

Percy winks, pours her a drink. “I hate the French. Rome, maybe. I might have proposed there, if you weren’t determined to beat me at everything.”

Annabeth shrugs. “I told you eight years ago I’d never make it easy for you.”

Percy raises his glass in a 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘳𝘴 motion. There’s still a crease in his forehead that makes her want to lean over the table and smooth it out with her thumb, but there's a hard edge to his grin, a flash of white pulled from crooked teeth that looks the slightest bit sinister. Percy's right about being monstrous to survive that place, and although he has more love in him than maybe anyone in the world he 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 this; knows the inside and out of planning and surviving, knows the twists and turns and all the creases and folds of stayibg one foot ahead.

Annabeth read his file when she was a teenager. Flaws include misplaced loyalty. Fears include becoming just like them.

Annabeth raises her glass to her lips. She’s never read her file, never felt the need to. Annabeth Chase- Fears include spiders, like one in nine. Fears include loneliness, like one in sixteen. Fears include being so known an entire file can be filled out.

Pity that both their worst fears came true.

~~~~~

“X-ray, velociraptor, noodles, Marty McFly, Centipede, Nickelback, 𝘗𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬, Yardstick, Kaz, Basilisk, Naga, Tlaloc, Amethyst.”

Piper takes a breath. “And those were just 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 of my suggestions, and he still gives his snake the worst snake name ever.”

“They are wonderful names,” Annabeth concedes. “I’m glad you helped Leo pick out his emotional support animal, Piper. I sure it meant a lot to him.”

Piper shrugs and tucks her hair behind her ear. “He can’t mean that much to Leo if he called him Buford.”

“That doesn’t make you any less kind.” Annabeth says, determined to make Piper realize the worth in her small actions.

Piper rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. She’s sitting in a position that looks incredible uncomfortable, and Annabeth is timing how long it will keep.

“Did you have any childhood pets?” she asks, thinking back to Percy’s mongrel, stuck with Sally because of their apartment's no pet policy that Thalia ignores in favour of keeping a small hedgehog named Porcupine as a joke that she alone finds hilarious.

“Nah,” Piper replies, lifting her lips into a weak half smile. “The house was pretty chaotic growing up, wouldn’t have been fair to the poor thing.”

Annabeth runs her tongue over her teeth. “Chaotic home? Do you want to talk about that?”

“I guess I walked into that,” Piper says, pulling her sleeves over her fists. “Okay. Um. So my dad, he’s kind of irrelevant these days, but he really peaked around the time I was born, maybe when I was a toddler. And I don’t know who my mom is, obviously.”

She scores her blunt fingernails down the worn armrest if the armchair, eyes glued to the ceiling.

“It would be like Timothée Chamalet suddenly having a kid, or one of those Marvel actors. People went crazy, everyone coming up with conspiracies and theories. Paparazzi practically lived at our house when I was a toddler.”

She pauses, exhales.

“That must have been difficult,” Annabeth says gently, placing her notebook by the leg of her seat.

Piper huffs. “It was weird. I-. I feel like it’s unfair, to complain about it. I mean, my dad was rich and famous and I’m sitting here complaining about it?”

Annabeth frowns, leans forward. “Piper, trauma is not a dirty word. You’re allowed to have a difficult childhood, and you’re allowed to struggle. Mental health doesn’t care about how rich someone is.”

“I know I’m allowed to struggle,” Piper admits, picking at the skin around her nails. “It’s just- I’m a queer Native American woman, and the thing I’m complaining about is growing up rich? Having a famous and successful dad?” She laughs, a short one-syllable sound that holds no amusement.

“You have a right to have feelings, Piper,” Annabeth reminds her. “Is there any particular moment that stands out to you?”

Piper clicks her tongue. “When I was four someone leaked our new house location. I wasn’t allowed to go outside for a month or two because fans were constantly taking videos of us. One of them got into the house.”

She trails off, twisting her fingers into anxious knots. Annabeth waits as Piper shifts and moves to sit in the seat normally, crossing one leg then the other, pulling at stands of her hair.

“They took pictures of me,” Piper continues after a poignant pause. “There was an online competition to find out who my mother was on Reddit, or whatever fucked up website existed back then.”

Annabeth’s mouth opens slightly. She reaches over and takes Piper’s hand, curling their fingers together, and Piper doesn’t pull away.

“I'm sorry,” she says. “That must have been scary for you.”

“It was,” Piper affirms, nodding. “Jokes on them, though. Nobody knows except my dad, and even that’s debatable.”

“And how do you feel about your mother?” Annabeth asks. “Do you wish she’d come forward?”

Piper sighs, drops Annabeth’s hand to stretch out in the seat. “In all honesty, I don’t consider myself having a mother. I don’t hate whoever it was, but she’s just a random woman. My dad raises me, and even his methods were questionable he 𝘥𝘪𝘥 it, and he did it himself.”

Annabeth nods. “And if she did come forward now?”

Piper shrugs. “I’d thank her for carrying me, I guess.”

Her voice is even and light, albeit still hesitant as she tiptoes around talking about her father, and Annabeth knows she’s telling the truth by the simple fact that she knows Piper’s not lying. Still, Annabeth feels they’ve reached a dead end, so she stands and cracks the windows open just enough to let air circulate.

“How’s work,” she asks once she’s sitting back down, and Piper takes the change in subject in her stride.

“Really good, actually,” she says. “Now that I’m working with New Rome it’s hard to believe I ever settled for those trashy magazines.”

Annabeth smiles. “It’s a great achievement, Piper. Have you settled in?”

Piper sighs, and in one great movement swings her legs over the side of the armchair. There’s a large hole on her left leg, and Annabeth can see the edge of a sharpie tattoo curl around her knee, thin lines of black against the brown.

“Most of them are great,” Piper admits. “Drew has gotten better, no, that’s a lie, I’ll call it out before you do. She’s still kinda the worst, but I spent some time with her, and she’s pretty amazing at her job.”

Piper pauses, screws up her mouth. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she had my ability, to be honest. It’s scary how much she can get out of her interviews.”

“That’s great, Piper,” Annabeth beams. “It’s hood to make connections at work, and building bridges with someone you haven’t always liked is an admirable thing to do. I’m proud of you.”

Piper laughs and thanks her, and Annabeth's next breathes come easier. It’s their first session since Sunday, and although the night had ended disastrously Annabeth head is filled with hazy memories of fast music and Piper’s hand in hers as they danced to it.

There’s patient-doctor boundaries and a wicked line down Piper’s forearm and drunken memories, and Annabeth friends were a package deal with her fiancé but she’s pretty sure this isn’t how she’s supposed to be making them. She clears her thought and tries to summon her therapist voice.

“And you?” Annabeth asks. “Have you been able to improve interviewing people for an article without using your ability?”

“I’m working on it,” Piper says, wincing. “I’m not trying too, but when I really want something...”

Annabeth reaches down and picks up her notebook, flicking through the worn pages to reach unmarked territory and placing an orange footnote sticker curling over the top. She writes the date and makes a note of Piper’s new efforts to subdue her ability, then flicks back to the last orange page to review.

One particular note catches her eye. “Using your ability through a phone,” she says. “How has that been coming along?”

Piper shifts, suddenly uncomfortable. “I don’t know. I told you I got rid of my phone, remember?”

Annabeth starts. “That’s still happening?”

A breeze creeps through the window and Piper visibly shudders before nodding. Annabeth waits, buy she doesn’t elaborate, choosing to just stare into space and spin her bracelet around her wrist. Annabeth decides to let it slide and pulls an old boombox from the drawers of her desk, needing Piper on the way back to the armchair and telling her that it’s time for mediation.

Piper sits on the floor for this, looking all at once childish and like a model on an album cover, perfectly comfortable with her legs crossed on the wooden panelling. She removes her tattered band t-shirt from where it’s layered over her jumper and tosses it to the floor, and as soon as her eyes are closed Annabeth leans over and tries to see the tag for where she bought it- Piper and Percy have a vast music taste that includes everything she’s never heard of and exclusively what the other likes.

Piper coughs pointedly, and Annabeth rocks back on her heels and switches on the boombox, sitting with Piper on the floor.

“Hey,” Piper whispers, her teeth peeking out from a smile. “Thanks for saving me Sunday night.”

Annabeth doesn’t answer, just scoots forward until their knees touch and listens to the audio tape.

~~~~~

Annabeth walks her patient to the door and sends them off with a wave, and Nico di Angelo is already in reception, chatting away to Will. He’s perched on the loveseat in such a way that Annabeth knows all her Atypical patients will end up in Percy’s office instead of hers in the future, because they all have terrible posture that is definitely going to result in back problems.

He also looks like he has no intention of getting up, even when he spots her and calls out a greeting. Annabeth taps her foot against the floor and let’s it echo around the room, and when he finally stops not-flirting with Will long enough to look at her, she raises a three fingers into eh air and pointedly drops it down to two.

Nico reacts just like her little brothers used to- jumping up and racing to her side. Annabeth steps aside and offers the entrance to him, but he frowns.

“No,” he whines. “I want to do Atypical stuff today. We talked about feelings for all of Tuesday’s session.”

Annabeth raises an eyebrow. “Most people wouldn’t call psychoanalysing childhood memories to find the root of your fear of present relationships '𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴'."

Nico’s eyes dart to Will as he shrugs. “How would I know? I wasn’t invited to sleepovers. Let’s go.”

He sneaks his hand out to encircle Annabeth’s wrist- his nails have been painted black with the utmost care- and starts at her. Annabeth watches him, amused, and doesn’t move an inch.

Nico drops her arm and rolls his eyes. “C’mon, Dr. Chase. I can summon ghosts, but there’s none in here. We need to go out, we only have an hour.”

Annabeth hates how her ears perk up at the mention of ghosts, hates how she knows Will can’t hear but can still feel him glaring daggers at her.

She doesn’t let herself dwell on it. Her rule was to always have a plan, and Percy’s is to trust instinct. Playing the long game means they intercede and overlap.

“Okay,” she says. “Let’s go. I have a break after you, so we should have an hour and a half.”

Nico nods sharply. “That’s more than enough time. I know what I’m doing.”

His voice is even as steady, and Annabeth falls into line as he turns back to the elevator, texting Will without looking at the screen and hoping he gets the memo.

She stays silent on the subway, trusting Nico to lead her along. The journey is short, but she’s standing and is pressed against several other people and loses him while trying to detangle her hair from someone else’s sunglasses.

She clamps her hand on his shoulder as soon as she finds him again, and they tumble out together, and Annabeth realises it’s finally the kind of day that requires sunglasses.

“Happy spring,” she breathes, and Nico squints up at the sun.

“Perfect day for raising the dead,” he comments, scoffing as a bird swings by, and Annabeth has to give the city credit for genuinely not caring that they say everything aloud.

Nico moves at a fast pace, and Annabeth stays directly behind him, keeping her face set in an expression that makes people jump out of her way. Nico, in fairness to him, has an interesting talent of sticking his bony elbows between gaps and making room, and between them they reach the destination in record time.

The destination is a quaint park, tucked between a takeaway pizza place and nameless grey buildings that probably host dozens of office jobs. Nico pushes the gate open easily, and Annabeth glances around to see surprisingly few people dotted around.

“I moved to America when I was nine, I think.” Nico says, even though Annabeth already knows this. “Bianca and I tied a rope to the tree over here, used it as a swing. It’s not where she died, or where she’s buried, but it’s the first place we loved in this country. So it’s probably enough.”

Annabeth takes a breath, but Nico moves towards a grove in the corner before she can get a word out, picking up a stray bottle on the way with a disgusted look in his face.

She jogs to catch up. “Nico, I’m not sure.”

He waves her off and reaches for the rope, a tattered thing that looks like it could fall apart in his hands, twisted golden and brown as the sunlight streams through the covering of leaves and catches on it.

“I’ve been practicing,” he murmurs. “It’s so 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘺, Doctor. My ability has never been easy before, but this is like breathing for me.”

Annabeth remembers when he finally came to terms with himself as an Atypical, how his voice had been breathy and full of awe. It’s nothing like this- quiet and sure and sends goose bumps running up her arms. His eyes are hooded and he’s tensing his hands, and Annabeth doesn’t know where it all came from.

“Nico,” she starts carefully. “She- remember that she didn’t come of her own violation. She mightn’t want you to-”

“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵,” he cuts in. “You didn’t 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 her, Annabeth, and I know you get off an hoarding information, but this is one thing you know fuck all about.”

Annabeth flinches back, then pushes down her feelings. “I understand that it hurts, Nico, but-”

“You 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 understand,” he spits. “She was my everything, you don’t know what it’s like to have your sister 𝘥𝘪𝘦.”

Silence hangs heavy, and Nico wipes his mouth and turns away, breathing heavily.

“I,” Annabeth says, “am so 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬 of you pretending that you’re the only person who’s lost someone.”

Nico whips back around with sides eyes, and Annabeth can hear the tone of her voice and knows that she can’t talk to patients like this but once she starts the words keep going, coming out in fits and starts like shuttle busses, like a glitching computer.

“Bianca died years ago,” she hisses. “I remember because my fiancé was 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, and he didn’t eat or sleep right for 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴, and it’s terrible and cruel and unfair that she’s gone.” She chokes, trips over her tongue. “But you have 𝘯𝘰 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 to tell me I don’t understand. Luke was all I had for 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴, he’s the reason I’m survived, he’s the reason I wanted to live. He was a brother to me and I watched as he was dangled upside down for two 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 until he died.”

She stops, bending at the middle like those woman on the TV, like her spine snapped in half, gasping ragged air into her lungs.

Nico narrows his eyes. “Then why are you trying to stop me?! Don’t you care? Wouldn’t you do anything to get him back?!”

Annabeth spits into the dirt and straightens, dragging her sleeve over her lips. “He’s dead. I have living people to care about.”

“Are you saying I don’t?” Nico asks, his voice a different shade of quiet.

Annabeth barks a laugh. “You’re half in love with my cousin and won’t do anything about it, you shrugged off Jason’s attempt to reconnect, you decided that once you got over Percy he wasn’t worth being friends with.”

Nico stares at her, shoulders finally losing their rigidity. “I changed my major. I know I told you to stop asking about it, and appreciate that you did. But I’ve chosen it now.”

Annabeth feels like she’s missed a vital part of the conversation. Her sudden need to reach out to Nico gives her emotional whiplash, and she fights to keep her tongue sharp.

“Oh yeah? What is it?”

“Architecture,” Nico admits. 

Annabeth's nails dig into her elbows. “That’s... That’s what I wanted to do.”

Nico smiles, unsure. “Yeah, I know. I remember you saying it.”

He tilts his head as he measures his words. “You- you mean something to me, Annabeth. I think you might have saved my life. I- I wanted to do it for years, actually, just had to convince my dad that I don’t want to take over his funeral business.”

Annabeth sinks to the floor, digs her fingers into the loose earth. After a moment’s hesitation, Nico follows her, reaches out for her hand. Neither of them apologize. Annabeth tilts her head back and fills her lungs with the rich air, the scent of moss and city smog just out of sight.

“I’m bad at fighting,” she offers. “Good at arguing, maybe, but bad at staying angry at people I care about.”

Nico's breath hitches, then he lets out a weak laugh. “Not me. I could hold grudges for the Olympics.”

There’s a sound of laughter, but his mouth doesn’t move. “You shouldn't,” Nico chides, except Nico’s not talking and he’s dropping her hand and his eyes are hazy.

“Hello, Nico,” Nico’s voice says from somewhere beside her. “You’ve gotten strong.”

“Bianca,” Nico says in a soft exhale. He’s staring at empty space to Annabeth’s left like it can tell him the meaning of life. Annabeth glances back, but the space is empty.

“I don’t think you can see me, Annabeth,” Bianca apologizes. “You never saw me in person.”

Annabeth pulls her hand away from her mouth. “You sound like Nico.”

Bianca makes an inquisitive sound. “Hmm. I guess you never heard me, either. That’s interesting.”

Nico stretches out, and Annabeth jumps up and brushes the dirt off her hands, determined to give them privacy. She types out potential messages to Grover, unsure how to phrase the encounter to him, then slips her phone into her pocket and starts walking laps around the park, making sure to steer clear of Nico.

He joins her when the alarm to get back in the subways goes off, expression completely blank. He doesn’t say a word on the journey back, but hugs her swiftly before getting off a stop early. Annabeth watches in wonder as he ducks out of the station.

~~~~~

When she reaches home, she can tell straight away that someone’s been around because her doorbell is fixed. She pushes open the door and sighs when she sees that Percy’s set of keys are missing from the bowl- he’s still at work.

She kicks off her shoes and bustles into the kitchen, and Reyna is standing by the window.

“Hey,” she says, like it’s her house Annabeth had been invited. She’s dressed like she invented Friday nights. She smiles at Annabeth like they invented them hand in hand.

“Hi, Reyna,” Annabeth replies. “Thanks for fixing the doorbell. And for ordering Thai.”

Reyna blinks. “How did you know?”

Annabeth shakes her head, smiling to herself as she starts setting the table. “You arrived, you stayed even though nobody was home, you know Percy’s exhausted when he has to stay in late, you can’t cook, I don’t love pizza.”

Reyna whistles and pushes herself away from the counter, reaching for glasses from the top cupboard. Her hair falls in a sleek braid down her back, entwined with golden strands. Annabeth excuses herself and changes into leggings and one of Percy’s old t-shirts, sending a quick text to Grover and tossing the flip phone onto the bed.

Reyna's found scrap paper and is hunched over the coffee table scribbling guitar tabs. Annabeth joins her, not understanding but happy to watch her work.

“I was out on a walk today,” Reyna comments, eyes glued to the page. “And believe it or not, I was suddenly staring at my dead father.”

Annabeth hums, curious. Reyna is Atypical, but fully trained. She’s never needed Annabeth as a therapist, and so Annabeth has no idea where this is going.

“Not ideal for a Friday,” Reyna continues. “He was a bit of a hag. Still, I can’t help but wonder whose power I was using.”

Annabeth swallows. She opens her mouth to spin out some sort of abridged truth, but Reyna beats her too it.

“I know you’re planning something, Annabeth. I trust you enough to not ask, God only knows I’ve had to make difficult plans before.”

She drops the pen and looks at Annabeth gravely. Her eyes seem borrowed from some ancient deity, like she’s seen this cycle around dozens of times before and each left her a made her a fraction more tired.

“Be careful, Annabeth.” Reyna warns, then turns back to her scrawling.

Annabeth slumps back into the sofa, duelling with the idea of explaining herself to Reyna and keeping her plan as down-low as possible. Her hands drift towards her elbow, and Reyna slaps them away. 

“Wait,” she says, raising her hand in the air and tensing it. Her nails are acrylic, sharp and bright. “Percy's here.”

As soon as the words are out of her mouth Annabeth hears the door slam open and Percy fall in.

“Hey babe,” he calls. “Did you order Thai? I met the delivery guy on the way up.”

“I did, actually,” Reyna replies, managing to project her voice without actually raising it.

Percy appears, carrying an alarming amount of food in his arms. “I like when Thalia comes. She’s loud and rude and carries a knife. I like when Cal comes, she’s definitely the person I’d be stuck on a desert island with.”

“I bought the food in your arms,” Reyna reminds him. “Chose your next words carefully.”

Percy sticks his head out from behind the tower of takeaway to stuck out his tongue. “The food's already paid for.”

He turns on his heel and starts walking back to the kitchen. “I don’t like when Reyna comes, because she doesn’t have a key to my apartment and she scares me.”

Annabeth slides off the couch and follows him. “Are you sure it’s not because she shows you up with you own power?” she asks innocently, helping him unpack the food.

Percy raises his eyebrow and stares her down. A wave rises behind without him, Annabeth watches his Adam’s apple bob and grin tip crookedly before it’s all spilling over her. She yelps as the water hits, but opens her eyes as she doesn’t feel anything. Percy has a hand clenched into a fist, and there’s a thin gap between her skin and the water. She reaches out, awestruck, and it shifts and curves in an effort to keep her dry. Annabeth makes shaky eye contact with Percy and smiles, and he beams back at her, tilting back his head.

Between one blink and the next the water separates into hundreds of tiny drops, hanging in the air above her and catching the light. Annabeth gasps and raises her hand to touch one, and Percy looks at her fondly, mottled light catching on his face. She drops her hand and takes a step towards him.

“Am I supposed to retaliate here or this this some kind of foreplay?” Reyna drawls from the doorway, and they leap apart. Percy laughs sheepishly and the water falls into the glasses.

“Better,” Reyna says, slipping into a chair and pulling a carton towards her. “I can’t stay long, I’m going out tonight.”

Neither she nor Annabeth have a liking for small talk, but heavier conversational topics feel out of bounds at the minute, so Percy takes the lead in the conversation. He immediately starts talking about his dream last night.

He’s almost finished when Reyna pushes her plate away dramatically. “That’s it. I have to leave before my brain cells do.”

Annabeth waves her hand. “No, let him continue.” She turns back to Percy. “So you’re best friends a goat who’s engaged to a giant, right?”

Percy points his fork at her. “Exactly! Except I think he wanted to eat my goat friend, so we were on a rescue mission. That’s where you came in.”

Annabeth laughs. “Aw, babe. You dreamed about me?”

Percy nods so hard his hair falls into his eyes. “Yeah! You tricked the giant into dying.”

“I am actually leaving now,” Reyna interjects. “I will not be coming back.”

“Good,” Percy shrugs.

“Be home before eleven!” Annabeth chimes at the same time.

Reyna doesn’t deign either with a response. As soon as she’s gone, Percy narrows his eyes. Annabeth watches as a portion of curry slowly slides down the table until it comes at a stop beside his plate.

“Cool, huh?” he says. “If I move the liquid inside it can drag the box with it.”

Annabeth blinks. “I can’t believe you may have untapped power and are using it to get food without moving.” She pauses, rethinks. “Actually, yes I can.”

Percy raises his palms in mock surrender, then quietens down. “Hey, are you okay? You seem kinda on edge.”

Annabeth grimaces, drumming her fingers on the table. “Is it that obvious?”

Percy tilts his head in a so-so gesture, then indicates her to continue.”

“I just.” She stops and bites her lip. “This isn’t fair to you. We were having a great time, you don’t need to hear me complain about work.”

Percy drops his chin into his hands. “Maybe. But I live to hear you talk.”

Annabeth scoffs, going silent. She tips her head back and stares out the window. Sometime in the last hour it’s started to rain, hazy streaks painted over the glass. 

“My patients... Every day one of them has a 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, this really emotional, really 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 thing. And I’m supposed to clap them on the shoulder and call it a breakthrough because they build it up for months, but I go through one every 𝘥𝘢𝘺, Percy.”

She drops her head into her hands, her words come out quiet and distorted. “It’s 𝘦𝘹𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨.”

She feels his hand come down heavy in her shoulder, a weight both familiar and comforting. “I don’t really know how to talk about feelings,” he admits, voice rough. “I just prepared a bath, I’ll clean up and join you.”

Annabeth stands and kisses his forehead. “I love you,” she murmurs, and he brushes his fingers over her knuckles.

The bath is just the right temperature and a shimmering shade of blue. Percy usually doesn’t shower at night due to water energising him, no matter how many times Annabeth insists it’s all in his head.

She’s barely a step into the bathroom when her phone rings, and she’s about to toss it on her bed when she sees who’s calling.

“Hello, Nico,” she starts, confused, but he doesn’t let her talk.

“Doctor, hi, Will gave me your number.” He’s talking fast but doesn’t stutter. “Bianca gave me advice today. She said I’ll learn more with my eyes open and my mouth shut. She said be ready.”

He takes a breath. “I don't know what's happening, but the only new variable in her summoning was you. I’ll be here if you need me."

He hangs up with a click, and Annabeth drops her phone to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know it's real when ghosts are talking about it
> 
> also this should be ~10k but my computer's telling me it's 7k when i try to switch it over? if this reads like it's missing a scene let me know


	4. #43/#38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not dead yet

Annabeth wakes up just before her alarm, and hurries to turn it off to spare herself from the shrill ringing. Percy's side of the bed is vacant but warm, and sunlight is sneaking through gaps in the blinds and creating soft streaks across the floorboards. 

Annabeth groans, stretching out her arms, and perks up at the smell of pancakes coming from the kitchen. She changes into something sensible and work appropriate, pulling a face in the mirror at her raggedy hair and general lack of movement provided by the stiff pants, and trudges in on Percy trying to flip a pancake in the air and subsequently spilling batter in himself. 

She snorts, covering her mouth. Percy looks over and grins, and the batter lifts from his hair and dumps itself into the sink. He’s showered, guessing from his perky attitude, and seemed to have attempted dressing before deciding that sweatpants were enough of an effort for a weekend. 

“Morning,” he sings. “How are we feeling?” 

Annabeth moves toward the coffee machine, furrowing her brow. “Like a video game character forced to repeat the same level with tiny variations as the player tries for different endings,” she decides. 

Percy nods and slides the contents of his pan onto a plate. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I’m tempted to just storm the OF now for some variety.” 

He offers her the plate, but she pushes it back into his hands and gestures for him to sit. “Remember at camp, if we didn’t get up in time they’d flood the bedroom?” 

Percy falls into the chair, thinking, and Annabeth can see the second he remembers because his eyes light up. She loves every inch of him, every mole and hair, his loose words and flowing movements, but she fell in love with his eyes first. She could look into them and name hundreds of new colours. 

She’s overcome with a rush of fondness as Percy laughs. “Yeah, they had to change that when I started giving people air bubbles to breathe.” 

Annabeth leans over to kiss his cheek before pouring fresh batter into the pan. “Don’t remind me,” she says, shuddering. “I’d take the water over the raccoons any day.” 

“Didn’t they have rabies?” Percy asks, mouth twisting up as he tries to remember. 

Annabeth laughs, and when Percy joins in, she finds she can’t stop; hair falling over her forehead and shoulders shaking.

“Gods,” she manages between great breathy gasps. “We’re messed up, aren’t we?” 

Percy wipes his eyes. “I think so.” 

She hiccups. Neither of them are laughing anymore. The pancake starts to emit a burning smell, and she flips it in silence. 

“Hey.” She says, her voice light in defiance of it. “We’re in this together.” 

There’s little life-or-death situations laced with the phrase anymore, but he still softens when she says it. 

“Of course,” Percy responds. “There’s no one else I’d want to be messed up with, anyway.” 

He wrinkles his nose. “That didn’t sound right. You get the point.” 

Annabeth rolls her eyes, smiling, and lets herself eat. The way Percy had removed pancake batter from his hair without even moving his hands- a psychological trait that the OF tried to beat out of him for years- unnerves her, the goal finally achieved for something as trivial as breakfast food. She’s sure the lines between liquid and solid must blur at some point, but Percy remains uncaring about the specifics his ability. 

Annabeth stands and tips her plate into the sink. “Thanks for breakfast, Perce. I’m heading out.” 

Percy nods solemnly, pursing his lips as he struggles not to smile. “Bye! I love you, you’re the girl of my dreams!” 

Annabeth waves over her shoulder as she leaves. “I’m pretty sure Reyna is the girl of my dreams, but you’ll do.” 

~~~~~ 

“Dr. Chase?!” 

She ignores the slightly hysterical question, choosing instead to drum her fingers against the desk and continue trying to take notes with her left hand. She’s made significant progress since the urge to learn overcame her two days ago, and she wants to get as good as possible before her brain loses interest. 

A hand slams down beside her notebook, scarred and calloused with fingers bent like gnarled roots. There’s smoking curling against the wood. 

“I like your nails,” Annabeth offers. “That’s a nice shade of blue.” 

Leo grunts and pulls back, leaving black marks in his wake. “Doc. Is there a reason you booby-trapped your office?” 

Annabeth lets her pen fall and finally makes eye contact with him. His hair has been pushed back from his forehead, where his eyebrows are currently residing. He looks slightly crazed, albeit endearing in the way he always is to her. He smells like burnt wire. 

Annabeth frowns. “Sorry. I know the mechanics aren’t up to your standard.” 

Leo blusters, swinging his arms around gesturing to a singed patch on his shirt. “That’s not the upsetting part of this scenario, Doctor! You set me on fire!’ 

“You’re fireproof,” Annabeth points out. 

Leo gapes. “That is so not the point.” 

Annabeth sighs and pushes herself away from the desk, strolling over to her still wonky door. There’s a haphazardly put together device pointing at the entrance, mostly for the purpose of setting anyone who walks through alight. With a little hum, Annabeth pokes and prods until she deems it safely deactivated. 

“I wanted to make sure you were fireproof in your subconscious,” she explains slowly. Leo still looks offended, so she gestures him to sit down. He winces as he takes a seat. “I’m sorry if it felt like I was betraying your trust in me. For what it’s worth, I had complete faith in your safety.” 

Leo tilts his head. “What about your safety?” 

Annabeth moves to sit across from him, tilting her head in the universally accepted gesture of confusion. 

Leo sighs. “Like, what if I thought it was an ambush and lashed out at you before checking?” 

He flicks his wrist sharply, and flames come snaking out from the soft inner arm. It darts around her neck, hot and stinging and caught in a trembling standstill as Leo watches with eyes that are uncharacteristically devoid of emotion. 

Annabeth holds her breath. She’s been trained for it. 

Leo drops his arms to dangle over the armrests, and the flames vanish. “Neat, right? I watched Spider-Man during the week, thought shooting flames would be cool.” 

He mimics laser noises, looking all at once young and playful as Annabeth rubs her throat. 

“Then that’s something we should work on.” Annabeth pauses, considers how the words feel on her tongue. “You need to be able to assess situations, understand how to best utilize your ability- or whether to use it at all.” 

Leo looks at her blankly, twitching his hands. Annabeth tosses him a hair tie, and he stretches and pulls and furrows his eyebrows until they’re almost touching. The air fills with a rugged burning smell, and Annabeth watches with wide eyes as the black fabric slowly turns to ash. Leo sneezes, and the residue falls to the ground, leaving a perfect ring of elastic in his hands. 

Leo stares at it for a moment, then snaps his gaze up. “Sorry! I know that’s not why you gave it to me, I just...” 

He trails off. Annabeth shakes her head. 

“No, I. Leo, that’s 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦! The elastic's not even melted!” She jumps from the chair and starts pacing around the office. “You summoned fire for the first time two weeks ago, but the amount of control you have...” 

She swivels on her heel to face him. “Leo, you’re a phenomenon.” 

“Okay,” Leo says slowly. “I don’t think I’ve seen you this excited, like, ever.” 

Annabeth blinks. Remembers what Percy’s been gently insisting. “I get excited around animals. And big vehicles. I can drive a crane, and a helicopter. Oldest child syndrome, I suppose, to always hide your excitement.” 

Leo whistles. “Huh. Cranes. I’m gonna make a list of the crazy shit you do, Doc.” 

Annabeth retakes her seat. “I’d like to see it. Do you mind me asking questions about your progress?” 

Leo agrees easily, which reminds Annabeth how little he knows her. By the seventh question he looks more resigned and less amused by her enthusiasm. 

“Have you ever seen an Atypical train?” he asks, cutting her off. 

Annabeth nods, then rethinks herself. “Only in controlled environments, it’s probably unlike what you do in your spare time.” 

Leo stares. “In my spare time? Dr. Chase, aren't you engaged to an Atypical? Maybe he’s an exception, but most of us actually have set training times.” 

“And by ‘most of us' I presume you mean yourself and Piper,” Annabeth responds lightly, careful not to sound condescending. 

Leo coughs into his fist. “Uh, okay, sure. My point is; while you help us train the more technical side, we still need to, um. Not train physically, more like catch up?” 

He sighs and pulls at his roots, frustrated at his grasp of words slipping. Annabeth sees him curl his hands together and flames igniting through the gaps in his fingers as he falls silent, the sits up straight in a lightning-crack of a movement. 

“It’s like a ladder!” He blurts, like he wants to get the words about before he forgets them. “You put our hands on the next rung, but we have to move the rest of our body up ourselves before you can help us up another rung. Like, when I told you I could control my body heat, and you immediately thought 'what if he can concentrate it enough to spark flame', and you made it possible but I was the one who went home and improved.” 

He slumps back into the seat, arms crossed over his chest in a rare moment of smugness. Annabeth pauses from where she’s been scribbling down the description of her training. 

“Leo, while I can admit your description makes a lot of sense, it doesn’t mean that your feat was any less impressive.” 

Leo raises his eyebrows, caught at the intersection between disbelief and a childish kind of hope, but remains silent. 

Annabeth purses her lips. “Leo. You’ve achieved incredible control over your ability! A few weeks ago, you were working on reheating coffee, and today you shot flames out of your wrists and kept it within an inch of my skin without burning me.” 

“I am pretty great,” he agrees slowly, and Annabeth beams at him. 

“Do you want to try some exercises?” She suggests. “We have enough time to work on hand-eye coordination and aim – pretty useful if you’re throwing fire around.” 

Leo perks up, then sinks back into the armchair. “Nah, I can’t. I slept in my binder last night, and I’m still sore.” 

He raises his hands to rub his side, frowning apologetically. Annabeth jumps up and pulls her drawers open, reaching for painkillers. “You know that’s not safe,” she admonishes gently. 

Leo nods, taking them from her. His hands are warm, and his fingers leave an ashy residue on hers. 

“I know,” he reassures her. “It was an accident, and it woke me up at, like, six in the morning to take it off.” 

Only when he tips his head back does Annabeth remember that she should have offered him water, but he dry swallows with no complaints. Annabeth bites her lip. She knows he deserves more- her sessions are teetering dangerously towards a mentorship for training Atypicals, and Leo’s one of the few patients that needs a real therapist. He can’t afford both, she reminds herself. He doesn’t need her super powered heist plans, he needs stability. 

“Okay,” she says. “I want you to put a reminder on your phone set for every night, just in case, and then we can work on some breathing exercises to ease the tightness in your chest.” 

~~~~~ 

Leo leaves just as the sun breaks from behind the clouds, and Annabeth waves him out before ditching her straight-backed chair to sit in a rogue patch of sunlight, twisting her fingers into the carpet. 

Her phone buzzes on the desk, and Annabeth jumps, eyes widening as she realizes who’s calling. Her phone is kept on silent during work as to avoid interruptions, which leaves just one possible contact. Sure enough, her phone flashes with a picture of a curly haired man with cups over his ears, in the middle of a rant about subspecies of bees. She had taken it at some party a few years back, and despite the probability of a sombre situation is high it still brings a smile to her face. 

“Hey Grover,” she greets smoothly, as though he hadn’t only missed Leo by a hair. 

“Annabeth,” he answers, the nervousness bringing forward an unfortunate tinny sound in his voice. “Someone- God, Annabeth- someone from the chamber died today.” 

Annabeth inhales sharply. The floor sways beneath her feet, planks blurring together into dizzying lines, and she grips the edge of her desk to keep her knees locked in place. 

“Who?” She breathes. 

Grover pauses for a beat. “Their name was Pan. Nature manipulation, but to an incredible scale. I- I had read about them, they’ve been around for centuries maybe. I didn’t know...” 

Centuries. Annabeth’s head clears. Even the OF can only do so much to keep humans alive forever, but Magnus had only been taken six years ago. She forces herself to breathe evenly until her heart stops racing. 

“Thank you for the update,” she says, almost robotically, then clears her throat. Grover would have put the pieces together; he wouldn’t start the call on such a statement only to have it lead nowhere. 

“Oh, Grover,” She whispers, and knows she’s right when his breath hitches as he inhales. “I’m so sorry.” 

Grover breathes out shakily, and Annabeth squeezes her phone tightly, wishing she could comfort him in person. “I’m so sick of the death, Annabeth. I can feel it lining the halls, I can feel it when I 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦.” 

The line goes quiet as he pulls away from the receiver. 

“Er, sorry,” he blurts after a heated pause. “I know you’re finding it hard with everyone breaking down on you all the time.” He attempts a laugh, achieves a strange bleating noise. 

“Hey,” Annabeth snaps. “None of that. You’re not my patient, Grover, you’re my best friend. Besides, you had to listen to me yap about Percy for years.” 

Grover laughs properly, and it’s weak and quiet but familiar. “Did you really compare my morality crisis to your crush on Percy.” 

“Yes,” says Annabeth, deciding it’s too late to back out of that one. 

“Unbelievable,” Grover mutters, then- “You're my best friend too, you know. Sorry for ringing this line. Bye.” 

“Wait,” Annabeth interrupts. “I- the plan- “ 

“Don’t tell me,” Grover says. “They can’t get information out of me if I don’t have any.” 

He ends the call, not letting her say goodbye. Annabeth stares at her reflection in the black glass of the screen, eyes wide and hair trying it’s hardest to defy the elastic holding it back. Her fingers are white around the joints, she notices distantly, losing blood flow from gripping the phone so tightly. The screen is cracked from dropping it on the bathroom tiles. 

She stands unblinking until Will barrages into the office, seeing her stance and immediately opening all her windows to let fresh air in and chatting about his favourite of the paintings on the wall. Annabeth’s shoulders slowly lose tension as she listens to him talk, and when he pushes her into a chair to braid her hair back she lets him work without complaint. 

He falls silent, teasing knots out of the curls to section them into different parts. He has long fingers, the kind for piano playing, and nails that refuse to grow out. Chase hands. He’s a mouth breather too- she can feel his breath on the back of her neck once the weight of her hair is gone. Luke had also been a mouth breather, something she had poked fun at over the years due to the faint whistling noise from the gap between his teeth. 

Annabeth opens her mouth. Breaths in and out a few times. It’s uncomfortable, and she snaps her mouth shut and swallows the lump in her throat just as Will finishes. 

“It’s not the best I’ve ever done,” he admits, turning her chin to see all the angles. 

Annabeth stands and hugs him fiercely, and Will lets out a soft noise of surprise before returning it with enough vigour to lift her off her feet. 

She pulls away, and Will slouches against her desk, suddenly out of reach. 

“Sap,” he teases, a picture of nonchalance spoiled by the angle of his eyebrows. 

“Maybe I am a sap,” she agrees. “Maybe I've decided that the best way to overcome a childhood that encouraged the idea that friendliness and an open heart was a vulnerability is to allow complexity and empathy into my human relationships.” 

Will nods. “Uh huh. Do you get off to therapy talk?” 

He laughs as Annabeth pulls a face, and mimics her expression with his eyes squinted in a way that hides her arm swinging it to punch him. 

Will yelps. “How do I always forget that you're 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 than me?” 

Annabeth shrugs good naturedly, watching with amusement as he dramatically rubs his upper arm. 

“Grover called,” she admits, because if she can’t confide in Will she can’t confide in anyone. “Someone from the chamber died.” 

Will’s eyes widen, and she can see fear creep into his stance as she rushes to explain. 

“They were centuries old, Will. I’m thinking 86% natural causes- even the OF can only keep people alive for so long.” She’s all but reciting her earlier train of thought, but Will seems calmer, going from drumming his fingers on her desk to playing with a stand of his hair. 

He winds a blond curl over his pinkie. “Why did he call about that? Keeping you on your toes isn’t really his style.” 

“He’s emotional,” Annabeth sighs, slumping into the seat usually reserved for her patients. It’s her first time sitting in it since she moved her desk out of the way. 

“Hey, mind sitting in my chair for a minute? I want to know if I look more approachable.” 

Will slips into the chair with no complaint, and Annabeth nods to herself. “That’s way better, I don’t know why I hadn’t done it already.” 

Will snaps his fingers in front of her nose. “Grover situation? Or are you just done with that?” 

“I’m done,” she replies out of habit, then shakes her head. “No, I’m not. He’s broken up about it.” 

She lets her face fall into her hands, heaves a sigh. Within seconds, she can feel Will’s hands settling in her shoulders and digging into her collarbones; a grounding feeling that’s familiar and uncomfortable and makes want to hug him again for always knowing how to react. 

“Thanks for helping out with Piper,” she murmurs. It’s the sort of afterthought she knows should come first. 

“No worries,” he responds softly, drops her shoulders in favour of shrugging out of his sweater and throwing it over her like a misshapen blanket. 

Annabeth wrinkles her nose. “Okay, you snapped me out of it. Don’t mother me.” 

In one swift movement, she stands and tosses it back to him. Will catches it easily, half hiding a smirk. 

“I know your problem,” he says, looking at her like she’s something particularly interesting under his microscope with an expression that he definitely picked up from her. “You’re going all therapist on your friends and all friend on your patients.” 

Annabeth doesn’t reply, because the line is blurring in front of her and she knows it, and part of her hates being out of control but part of her wants it so badly she can hardly breathe; wants friends her own age she made herself- not ‘𝘸𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢’ friends or ‘𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸’. Silena had reached out and caught her hand to stop her from falling into a pit of boiling water when she had slipped of the climbing wall. She had pushed Grover out of the way of a programmed fighter bot. Luke had showed her how to lie and cheat and pretend. 

She doesn’t bother asking Will if they could be both. He’s always had friends, being cheery and extroverted and largely staying under the OF’s radar had rewarded him with a relatively normal childhood, and while he’s self-aware enough to appreciate it he's never quite understood the ache in her bones. 

“Yeah,” she sighs instead. “Yeah.” 

~~~~~ 

Percy changes training spots every so often to curb his paranoia, but Annabeth makes sure to keep track of them, often helping him pick new ones, but travelling out to meet him there makes her realize how much effort goes into organising his training. He texted her a set of instructions to follow to help her find her way without being easily tracked, and she follows them to the tee even though she knows he definitely doesn’t. 

It’s a forty-minute walk from where the bus drops her off. Annabeth pulls her hair from her braid and wrestles it into an almighty bun on the top of her head, using two elastics and fastening with a hairband. She fixes her backpack over her shoulders and shakes out her legs- tanned, unshaved, stiff from the bus journey- and starts walking, revelling in the breeze that sweeps around her. 

Not long after the road turns into a dirt path she hears a splash, and starts jogging with light feet, determined to sneak up on him. There’s a turn that almost hides a trail overgrown with half trodden weeds and brambles lining the sides, and she jogs down until the ditch falls away on her lest and the it smells like the air after rainfall. 

Percy is standing in an overgrown field, overlooking a ditch covered in brambles. His back is to Annabeth, and his hands are glued to his side in forced lack of movement. In the air, droplets of water are splitting apart, halving in size until Annabeth’s eyes can't focus on them, and joining together again until only one unit of water hovers. She watches as it sharpens until it’s a perfect, undripping cube, and then it starts halving again, making the sky look pixilated. Percy stands unmoving, and for a split second she doubts that he’s the one moving the water. 

Annabeth shakes her head and steps into the field. She decides against sneaking up on him since he would easily see her reflection, and is proven right when he spins on his heels to grin at her. She waves back in a wide arc, and in a swift movement Percy swings his arms towards her and pulls them into his chest. A wave follows the motion, knocking her off her feet and sending her tumbling towards her fiancé, who pulls her to her feet with soft laughter. He flicks his wrists and dries her, and she rolls her eyes and guffaws but is thankful for the refresher after her walk. 

“Are you ready?” he asks, eyes bright. 

“Always,” Annabeth replies honestly, allowing herself to smile without holding any implications in it. 

Without warning, Percy bends at the knees and propels himself into the air. Annabeth crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows, forcing herself not to react as a huge bubble of water rises to meet him until he’s completely engulfed. He waves cheerfully at her, bracelets bouncing up and down his arm as if in a state of antigravity. Annabeth runs her tongue over the bridge of her teeth, pointedly winking up at him before springing forward to gain momentum as she jumps into the air. 

She can't see whether his reaction is calm or panicked, but she feels water envelope her within milliseconds. There’s a pocket of air surrounding her head with a fine tunnel for fresh air supply, and then it’s rising and she has to swim to keep up. Annabeth glances down and sees the ground beneath her, warped and catching patches of light as the sun shines through them. 

“Nice jump,” Percy says, popping his head into the sachet of air. He’s dry, but there’s water stuck to his eyelashes as he glances up to her. 

“Nice catch,” she replies, somewhat breathless. His eyes are a washed-out blue that’s as much striking as it is unnatural. “Were you planning on telling me you can fly?” 

“It’s not flying,” Percy grumbles, but she can tell that he’s proud of himself. Annabeth pulls his arms away from where they’re crossed over his chest in a mock display of insolence and presses her forehead to his. 

“You’re incredible,” she whispers. Percy meets her eyes and softens, and Annabeth links her hands behind his neck, holding him tightly. “You know that, right? It’s not just your ability, it’s you.” 

He kisses her like he always does; like the world begins and ends with them. 

Annabeth’s bones sigh in relief. 

If they weren’t suspended several feet in the air, they’d almost be like any other young couple. The thought clears her head, and Annabeth silently counts to three before breaking away and pushing back against his chest to spring out of the bubble. She lands a backflip clumsily, rightens herself, and grins up at Percy. 

“Come on!” she calls. “No water powers, just us. I want to know if I’ve still got it.” 

Percy smiles, bright and beautiful, and then spreads his arms to direct the water to the ground. It rushes back into the ditch puddle, and Annabeth finally notices the small stream running through it. 

“Hand-to-hand?” he clarifies, and Annabeth drops into a fighting stance and then they’re going at it. 

A gym membership and self-defence classes have kept her fit, but it’s Luke’s old advice that proves timeless- she ducks and dodges and weaves around him, using her height as an advantage and looking for an opening. 

‘𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵. 𝘗𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘦𝘳.’ She plants her foot in the dirt and dips into a wide swerve as Percy’s hand goes soaring over her head, straightening up close enough to catch his chin with her skull, sending him reeling back. 

‘𝘜𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴. 𝘊𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴.’ Annabeth let’s her elbow fly out, and Percy’s eyes narrow before he leaps forward, twisting her arm behind her back and holding her there. 

“I know you too well,” he says, panting. “You’ve been doing that since you were twelve.” 

Annabeth tilts her head back and laughs. “Yeah, but I’ve been taking women’s self-defence since I was twenty-one.” 

In a swift motion she locks her elbows and turns, a sequence that’s as familiar as the yelp of surprise that escapes him. Annabeth jerks her knee up before she can second guess herself, wincing as she feels the blow connect. Percy stumbles back, bent double and gasping, and when he tilts his face up his eyes are round and his grin is wild and she can almost feel his heartbeat one-two-three and then he leaps forward. 

His weight and momentum knock her off her feet, and her head hits the ground with a dull thud. 

“I don’t like being under you,” she wheezes, and his whole body shakes with laughter. This close, she can see a bruise gathering on his face and the sweat tracing his forehead. 

She can’t move. Annabeth knows he’s being gentle, but he’s unrelenting and competitive and waiting for her to yield, pinning her to the grass with his knees and hands locking her in place. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply before flicking her wrist. 

She can tell the exact moment he feels the cool blade against his arm. 

“You cheat,” he whispers, and between heartbeats she’s slid from under him and is facing him properly. 

Annabeth stands. “We’re both cheaters,” she says, panting, because the grass had been just slippery enough for her to fall backwards. “You’re just mad I cheated better.” 

‘𝘊𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵. 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦.’ 

That had been the hardest for Annabeth to learn. She had taken pride in her worth to the OF’s training programme, held the secret of her normality close to her heart and used it as armour that she could still best the Atypicals. Luke had been relentless, Thalia even more so, both of them drilling it into her psyche that no matter how fast she trained herself to run, how high she trained herself to jump, how long she trained herself to hold her breath, they'd catch up.

If Annabeth played fair, she’d lose. If Annabeth kept losing, she’d get caught. If Annabeth got caught, she’d be killed. 

Her grip on the knife loosens, running a finger along the edge. It’s blunt, nicked from the kitchen before she left. It makes no noise as it falls to the muddied floor. 

As soon as she’s dropped it Percy steps forward and hugs her tightly. “I’m sorry,” he whispers into her hair. 

Annabeth shakes her head and smiles, hugging him back. “Don’t worry about me. I feel scared around spiders, remember?” 

He pulls away to look her in the eyes. “You should be. Spiders are no laughing matter.” 

Whatever he sees, it seems to satisfy him, and he turns his back to walk towards the stream again. “You’re getting sloppy. You would have stabbed me when we were sixteen.” 

“I’m biding my time!” She yells after him, laughing as she jogs back to where she had left her bag. There’s a small notebook and a pen, and she gets comfortable on a half-buried rock to watch. 

Percy doesn’t bother showing off, just walks her through his basic exercises and explains how he expands his powers. His train of thought is hard to follow, and after a few futile explanations of how he got from Point A to Point B Annabeth just smiles and nods, scribbling questing marks on the pages without looking. General consensus is that he has too much power to know what to do with, and Annabeth feels the sudden urge to find out if the ability is guiding his hand to find an outlet or if he really is just making incomprehensible jumps. 

In exaggerated slow motion he switches from manipulating water to mud to clouds, coming closer with blackberries cupped gently. He crushes them in his palm and angles himself so Annabeth can see the sweet juice curve up his wrists, leaving pretty purple trails behind them. As soon as they dry Percy explains that his ability is useless. Annabeth writes frantically, taking up more space than necessary in her haste. 

“You ready?” Percy asks, not waiting for answer before dragging the bramble over his arm. Shallow scrapes tinge his skin paler. Tiny droplets of blood well, and his forehead scrunches up in concentration. Blood rises from his skin in staggered movements. 

Annabeth skims through her thoughts, writing off the majority as useless. “So, with Piper...?” 

Percy shrugs. “I just held it in place until it clotted.” 

Annabeth picks up her pen. “No healing,” she mutters, copying down the words. 

Percy nods. “No healing. Could you imagine Magnus’ face if I told him I could heal too?” 

He laughs warmly, and the sound of it fills her chest with affection. “We’ll tell him anyway,” she says. “Now get back to work” 

The sun dips slowly, catching on pollen and dust suspended in the air. Annabeth lets her hair down, shaking out the mass of curls. Percy is lying on his back, making shapes with the clouds and acting shocked every time he’s finished with one, as if he had nothing to do with it. A rabbit is lounging in the corner of her eye. Annabeth feels like singing, settles for humming under her breath, shivering as a cool wind picks up. Her notebook stays discarded at her feet, half full of half readable notes on Percy’s developments and training techniques, and how they relate to Leo’s statement- she really doesn’t know anything about how they train. No matter how educated she is, there’s a line she can’t quite cross. 

There’s an itch at the back of her brain, some part of her subconscious loathing the fact that she doesn’t understand. With deep, measured breaths, she reminds herself that Percy isn’t hiding anything from her, that she still has control, that lack of knowledge isn’t fatal anymore. She closes her eyes and lets the birdsong become louder. Knowledge and control. That had been Luke’s problem; caught up in the joy of the impeding revolution had made him optimistic and blinded his common sense. In the end, the sheer amount of Atypicals on his side didn’t stand a chance against the one Atypical who ratted. 

In the end, Luke got killed, Grover got stranded, Magnus got taken, Annabeth got caught. 

Percy got out, though. In one decisive moment, Annabeth kicks off her rock, lying down beside him and joining his cloud watching. It’s hard not to recognise his clouds from the natural occurrences, and as she watches him make a cow with a fish tail it comes to her- the selfish decision would be leaving him at home. Percy had more friends than her in the training camp, easily lost as much as she did, and although the grief didn’t turn bitter in his chest, he has power pouring out of him with no outlet. 

As a therapist, she can recognise unhealthy coping mechanisms, but the daylight turns to golden hour and her fiancé is holding her hand and the rabbit comes back into sight and she truly, honestly, does not care. 

~~~~~ 

Frank slams his drawing onto the stool looking immensely pleased with himself. Annabeth leans over to assess, flicking her eyes up to watch him instead. He’s looking comfortable, dressed in sweatpants and a wife-beater, but he’s also slouched, stretching out his arms contentedly. He reminds her of a cat curled up in a patch of sunshine. 

“Uh. Doctor Chase? I know it’s no masterpiece, but it can’t really be hard to see the balloon.” 

Annabeth blinks and straightens up. “No, yes, of course.” 

Frank raises his eyebrows, smiling good naturedly. “Yeah, it's an easy metaphor.” 

“You’re feeling lighter these days,” Annabeth confirms, the thought of his happiness dragging a smile to her own face. 

Frank blushes, shrugging, then sharpens up, sitting straight in his chair and making sure he has her attention before holding up his hands, staring intently. Annabeth squints and leans forward as his fingers take on a beige tinge, nails becoming thick and curved. 

“I took a biology class since you last saw me,” Frank says, smiling over his new set of claws. He flexes his hands, and they become smaller and sharper; again and they become wide spread, dark hairs appearing around the joints. Frank talks her though each animal. 

“That’s incredible,” Annabeth breathes. “I mean, I had my suspicions, but you’ve basically proved it yourself.” She grabs his hands with her own. “Frank, your ability isn’t to change into animals; you can alter your DNA. Only to animals, it seems, but the difference between completely changing yourself and changing specific parts of yourself is huge.

Frank’s eyes widen. “Ok,” he breathes. “Ok, you know what? When you find out you can turn into animals every other bit of shocking news is just whatever.” 

Annabeth accepts that reaction- believes it too. Frank really doesn’t seem perturbed. Annabeth catalogues her excitement, vowing to come back to it armed with pencils and graph paper, and focuses on the other shock delivered to her. 

“So,” she starts, getting up to grab water for both of them and turning her back on Frank, a subtle way to give him privacy in such an open space. “Biology class, then? You thinking of going back to college?” 

Her hands shake, and water spills over her, room temperate despite all of Will’s efforts, soaking her sweater. Annabeth sighs and pulls it off, hating the feel of the wet fabric and realising how spoiled she’s become with Percy’s casual use of his ability. Behind her, Frank draws in a breath. 

“I am going back. I have more time than I know what to do with, and want to start building up relationships by myself.” 

Annabeth turns back around, carrying two cups and abandoning her sweater by the water dispenser. Frank’s rubbing the ack of his neck sheepishly, and takes the drink without complaint. He talks Annabeth through his experience while attending a few different lectures, explaining that the biology had inspired him to work on his ability. 

“I don’t want it to be major, though," he says thoughtfully “I don’t want me being Atypical to define such a big part of my life” 

Annabeth hums lightly. “It’s up to you, obviously, but I agree. Associating your major with work – specifically work in relation with Atypicals – could drain your passion for it and make it much harder to study.” 

Frank points at her. “Exactly! I want everything about this round to be about me. I’ll stick it out this time.” 

“Don’t feel forced to stick it out,” Annabeth reminds him gently, and he shakes his head. 

“No, I want to this time. I genuinely want to.” He bites his lip, glancing behind and over the city, bleached an unfortunate shade of grey from the sun poking out of the otherwise overcast skies. “I’ve always wanted to go to college, to meet people there. Don’t laugh- my gran always said this is the age you find a new family. One worth fighting for.” 

He lets out a soft laugh, eyes fond. “That was her. Even talking about friends and family she linked it back to violence.” 

Annabeth casts her mind back, trying to recall his grandmother. Frank’s mentioned her in snatches throughout his sessions, like pebbles to follow back to a source. It’s a nice change of pace, to have a patient barely mention a family member due to genuinely not needing to discuss them with a therapist. The trail leads her to a no-nonsense woman who had a key role in raising Frank and died right before he fell off the rails. 

“They will come to you,” Annabeth says softly, thinking of Percy and Will, of Grover, of Thalia and Rachel, Silena and Charlie. Of, with baited breath, Piper and Jason. “But don’t think you won’t have to put effort into it! Friendship is a two-way street, and having best friends doesn’t diminish having more casual ones.” 

Frank nods, looking thoughtful. He dropped all his gym friends, something Annabeth knows he still feels guilty about despite explaining the situation. She’s never known a world without that kind of consistency, but Frank takes everything gracefully and without complaint, occasionally letting out his emotions in her office. He never blames anyone, not even himself. 

“Don’t worry about it,” she finds herself saying. “If I know you at all, being your friend will be the best thing to happen to those kids.” 

Frank scoffs, reminding her that she’s not much older, but he slouches back into the armchair with a pleased look on his face anyway. 

Before he goes, Annabeth tasks him with swinging by her apartment next week as an animal without her realising its him in disguise. They run over the rules for a minute – Frank can’t be too small to notice, nor can he spend less than five minutes in the area. He accepts the challenge with refreshing determination and leaves with a spring in his step. 

Annabeth cleans the cups in silence and awaits her next patient, grateful for the barrier of normalcy before Clarisse inevitably storms in and asks her difficult questions. 

~~~~~ 

“Do the people you send the notes too actually read them or do they just need the notes for company policy or whatever?” Clarisse asks, balancing her heavy boots on the stool. She’s started coming into her sessions early to ask her questions – two every session that Annabeth must answer honestly. It was probably a mistake to make that deal; Clarisse is proving apt at asking all the ones Annabeth doesn’t want to answer. 

“Yes, they read them.” Annabeth replies, careful to keep her tone and face neutral to avoid giving away any more information than possible and hoping that it just comes across as calm. 

Clarisse nods sharply. “Okay. And are they truthful?” 

Annabeth’s heart hiccups. “Yes.” 

“Too fast, Doc. Are they misleading?” 

“Two questions, Clarisse,” Annabeth reminds her softly, and the other woman snorts. 

“That’s a yes if I've ever heard one.” 

“I would have reminded you of the two-question rule regardless of the answer,” Annabeth says. Her eyebrow hasn’t twitched in a long time. 

Clarisse stares at her, head cocked. “Yeah, maybe. But you’re a misleading person, Annabeth Chase. You don’t tell me shit unless it's exactly what I'm asking you, so why change for them.” 

It’s phrased as an observation rather than a question, so Annabeth simply moves on. Clarisse numbs down after her interrogation ends, on par with every week, and plays along with Annabeth’s questions and tests. She occasionally makes a few digs to rile her up, but Annabeth can finally recognise that it’s way of interacting with people – probably derived from a fear of intimacy that her other therapist is working on. 

“Any luck finding out your max weight?” Annabeth asks, looking up from her notes. 

Clarisse loses the relaxed posture for this one. She doesn’t bother faking apathy, and this topic actually interests her – mostly because she doesn’t seem to have a limit. Her strength is unfathomable, and Annabeth can only imagine how much self-control and restraint it takes to function as normal. 

“No,” Clarisse boasts, grinning. “Silena’s boyfriend has a basement full of heavy shit, and his place was empty over the weekend. We got nothing.” 

Annabeth stills. “Silena’s your girlfriend, yes?” 

Clarisse raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, you gonna write that in your notes?” 

Her voice is mocking, but her leg starts to bounce without her notice. Annabeth closes the notebook and places it on the stool, flicking away a clump of grass provided by Clarisse’s shoes. As always, she can feel the uncomfortable sensation of being watched intensely. 

“Of course not.” Annabeth says evenly. “I just can’t believe I hadn’t pieced together that you’re Silena Beauregard's girlfriend.” 

Clarisse’s eyes widen, and Annabeth doesn’t even have time to consider wondering if name-dropping was a mistake before Clarisse has jumped up and is pacing around the room, making loud thumps with her footsteps. 

“I can’t believe it,” she gripes. “You were in her fucked-up training camp, weren’t you? You have that ability that makes you better than other people.” 

“Ascension,” Annabeth cuts in. “It doesn’t make you better, per se, just more athletically and intellectually inclined. Most people don’t even know they have it. And no, I don’t have any ability. Like I said on your first day, I'm not an Atypical” She stands and takes a step forward. 

Clarisse stops pacing and turns her back, shoulders tight and back straight. She traces one of Percy’s paintings, rigid but gentle. Upon further inspection, she’s not touching it all all; fingers hovering millimetres away from it and trembling slightly. Annabeth stands beside her, silent. The he painting depicts a phoenix flying over the ocean, and she keeps it in the office for its ethereal look and friendly colours, but she’ll never forget Percy working on it through the night, his sleepy voice telling her that hopes the bird doesn’t fall in. 

“That's the reason she was in that coma,” Clarisse says, her usual tactic of half question half accusation. “She doesn’t like to talk about it, and I respect that. But I can tell.” 

“You’re right,” Annabeth whispers, laying bare her history to the only patient who’s coming close to her present and refusing to think about the consequences. “It was a cruel place, and we planned an uprising. Somebody ratted. The losses were... huge.” 

Huge does a disservice. 

Clarisse lets out a dwindling breath. “Did you ever find out who?” 

“No. Sometimes you just don’t get closure.” 

“You work for assholes. I’m glad you’re not telling them shit.” 

There’s a pause, and both of them stare at the painting without staring at anything at all. Annabeth shivers, wishing she had put her sweater back on. 

“I’m glad you don’t tell me shit either,” Clarisse admits, and Annabeth looks over to her in surprise. “The moment I find out who they are, I'll probably try to destroy them myself.” 

They spend the rest of the session working on healthy coping mechanisms for anger, and the second Clarisse leaves Annabeth fills her pages with everything she remembers. Will eventually wanders in with a croissant and idle small talk. The sound of his voice smoothes her rough edges, and she lets the pen fall to the floor to look up at him, straining her eyes wide. 

“What they did to us,” she asks, “it was cruel, wasn’t it?” 

Will stares at her for a long time, then forces the pastry into her hand. “Yeah,” he says, voice tight. “Yeah, Annabeth. It was.” 

~~~~~ 

Annabeth swings open the door, revelling in her good mood. Somewhere in the depths of the apartment, Percy acknowledges her presence with a loud and startlingly realistic neigh. 

“Engaging in My Little Pony roleplay on a Thursday?” she asks with feigned curiosity, poking her head around their bedroom door where he’s bent over his laptop. 

Percy looks up and pouts. “Why am I always the butt of your jokes?” 

“Because if I was the butt of a joke I’d cry,” she responds easily, blowing him a kiss before throwing her still damp sweater at him. “Why did you make a horse noise?” 

Percy draws out the remaining water and dumps it in a plant on his nightstand. “I panicked. You hungry?” 

They walk into the kitchen holding hands before Annabeth actually thinks about what he offered and declines food, instead taking out the blender and making a cold smoothie, fixing her hair into a ponytail and preparing for a run. Percy rambles about his day at work, showing her pictures of the puppy that was brought in to strengthen its limbs in the pool. He’s committed to stalking Facebook until a corny video pops up featuring him. 

She takes the run at a quick pace, determined to push herself but also wanting to be home before the streets get dark. Her feet slap the ground in a consistent rhythm, matching her breathing. Keeping her head up and back straight, she pushes away from the ground and takes in the fresh air. 

Piper can force people to do whatever she wants by asking them. Definitely useful, but relatively close range. Bringing a megaphone is impractical, and the cons outweigh the pros. Ideally, she would link a recording up the intercom system and take out everyone in one fell swoop, but hacking from the outside is near impossible and sneaking in t the intercom room is a waste of time when they could be sneaking in to wherever Magnus is. Piper would just have to group with people who wouldn’t be able to defend themselves and take out whoever they come into contact with. The biggest potential problem is whether she’d be willing to kill- knocking people out isn’t reliable. 

Frank can alter his DNA to other animals, adding brute strength and agility to the team. With some additional training to quicken his shifts he should be able to fight with the power of bigger creatures while switching to a smaller target. His senses don’t change enough to be useful, which would have been helpful in finding Magnus, but the memorizing the blueprints instead won’t be hard. Frank definitely won’t kill anyone, especially considering he’d have to use claw and teeth, so he’ll be to be paired with someone with mean streak. 

Everything hinges, potentially, on Nico’s ability to raise the dead. Painful as the combination would be, he’d have to be paired with Percy; the other person who may be able to recover Magnus. They’ll need a small team to get through fast, and Percy’s fighting skills and willingness to play dirty should compensate for Nico. Water should take out most communication between personnel as an added bonus. 

Will, despite wanting be a doctor, is deadly. His ability gives him the opportunity to both concentrate all the pain of one person and render them useless, and completely remove someone's pain, letting them bleed out from an injury they never knew they had. Unfortunately, a high stakes environment means his version of healing is dangerous, so they’ll have to hope Magnus is on the playing field before anyone gets hurt. 

Clarisse. Super strength, to phrase it in an easy to digest manor, and a mean streak a mile wide. She’d probably take down the whole organisation herself, so the real challenge would be making her into a team player. 

Leo. Pyrokinesis, but only as of recently. Potentially powerful, and would join anything for an opportunity to make friends and acquire heist stories. 

Jason. Flight. Admittedly not useful for the operation, but he’s level headed and strong. A good scout. 

Annabeth pushes past the pique of her discomfort, and in her desperate attempt to control her thoughts starts sprinting, stretching her legs out to their furthest possible point before striking down to pavement again. Her ponytail hits her back heavily with each uneven step. 

She bursts back into the apartment and immediately doubles over, drawing in staggered breathes until she can see without squinting and the coppery taste fades from her mouth. Walking slowly into the kitchen, she throws open the window and welcomes the smell of rain, finding herself into one of the chairs with her legs spread widely. 

Percy chuckles in the doorway, pouring her a glass of water and closing her fingers around it tightly and tilting his chin up in a mock drinking gesture. Annabeth watches the movement of his neck, raising the glass in a cheers motion before downing the contents. 

“Good run?” Percy asks when she finishes. 

“Trying to outrun my thoughts,” Annabeth jokes, and if he senses the reality in the statement he doesn’t pester, just squeezes her shoulder as he gets up to finish dinner prep. 

She passes their phones on the way to the shower, both discarded on the bed, and stares at them for a moment, almost daring them to ring in remembrance of Nico’s news. A minute passes of futile staring, and Annabeth admits defeat, trailing into the bathroom and stepping under the hot water, careful to keep her hair dry to avoid over washing it 

She hadn’t realised how stiff she was until the water eases it out of her, and she tilts under the stream with her eyes closed only to snap them back open again. An empty space where a towel should be hanging stares back at her. Annabeth curses under her breath, turning of the water and grabbing a bath robe from the back of the door to aid her on the journey to the towels. 

She barely has a foot into the bedroom when the phone rings. She picks it up gently and brings it to the kitchen. Percy’s swinging around the kitchen, barely paying attention to the trill of his own ringtone, but he turns when Annabeth fakes a cough. 

He sees the name on the screen and takes the call, absently drying her off before pacing his phone face up on the counter with speaker on, and then continues dancing around with various utensils. 

“Hey babe!” Rachel calls out. “I can see it’s on speaker, so I’m guessing Annabeth’s there. Good. Annabeth, we’re having an affair.” 

She cuts herself off with a snort that evolves into soft laughter. Annabeth raises an eyebrow at Percy, who nods guiltily. 

“Gods, could you imagine?” Rachel continues. “Gas. Anyway, time to converse like adults. I’ve gotten a breakthrough for your secret heist.” 

“That’s great, Rachel!” Annabeth chimes. 

Simultaneously, Percy. “That’s great adult speech, Rach. You’re almost ready to join them in the wild.” 

“Thank you,” Rachel says seriously, though it's unclear who she’s responding too. “Basically, I’ve made the blueprints for your apartment block. I’ve seen just enough of the interior for it to be a challenge. I have to say, Annabeth, you really know how to think outside the box with abilities. Without you, I’d probably just use it to not get lost at shopping malls.” 

“All in a day’s work,” Annabeth replies, warmed. “Although, burn the blueprints. That’s practically an invitation for more people to move in here.” 

Rachel laughs again and agrees, bidding them a giddy goodbye before hanging up. Annabeth bites her lip and glances at Percy, who picks up his phone and slides it into his back pocket, reminding her to shower. She holds off her questions and complies. 

Annabeth wanders back into the kitchen clad in pyjama shorts and one of Percy’s hoodies that’s comically oversized on her, and he places a hand over his heart and fakes a swoon when he sees her. Annabeth sticks out her tongue and wrestles her hair up, using her elbows to open various cupboards and returning to grab plates and glasses once her hands are free. Percy plates up whatever it is that he’s made that she definitely can’t pronounce, garnishing it with some unidentified herbs from the windowsill. 

He sits beside her at the table, a bundle of kinetic energy facing a mind of whirring thoughts and both stilling as he presses their legs together. Annabeth picks up a spoon and turns to stare at him, his sharp jawline in constant fluid motion from talking and eating and grinding his teeth, his loose dark hair with the tell-tale twist of grey, his bare arms and the crisscross of scars that cover them. His eyes cut to the side and catch her, amused, and she doesn’t stop staring. She doesn’t have to. 

“I love you,” she says casually, and Percy gives her shoulder a hard poke. 

“Love you less for that.” 

She doesn’t, and he knows it, squinting heavily with a dubious expression that reminds her of their old training days when she’d pull a particularly ridiculous plan out of nowhere. Most people, confident in her reputation, would just fall in line, but there was always a certain few who would protest. She never had much ground on newer kids - a cute faced blonde standing at a solid five feet, but Percy defended her each time, hot-headed and righteous. Miraculously, they were never split up, always able and encouraged to win. Memories of the singsongs after victories waft back to her, as per the OF's policies to reward winners and to try to convince everyone that life was fun.

Percy proves himself when he joins in her mumble, whistling the notes when they get too high to reach. 

“Anyway,” he says, cutting himself off with a cough. “I love you too, obviously. I got the blueprints, didn’t I?” 

Annabeth snorts, an undignified sound she wouldn’t make around anyone else. “Rachel made the blueprints.” 

There’s a pointed silence, Percy swirling his fork over his knuckles and Annabeth shovelling food into her mouth because she has a feeling it’ll be cold by the time the upcoming conversation ends, in all its inevitability. He notices, because he always notices, and waits for her in what becomes an awkward standoff until she gestures for him to go ahead. 

“So,” he starts, then stops to clear his throat. “I asked Rachel for the blueprints, clearly. It didn’t work, by the way, she still thinks you’re up to something. Point is, I know I said I needed time to wait, but I was wrong.” 

He pulls a face at the words, face screwing up like he sucked a lemon before he shakes it off and looks at her earnestly. “I need this, Annabeth. I need action and I need an outlet and I need my friends back and I need to beat the shit out of the OF.” 

His eyes are sharp, dirty grey and churning like the ocean, his mouth set in a grim like that suggests he doesn’t even know he’s making an expression. 

“And it’s not for your sake, you don’t even start on the guilt thing,” he finishes. “It’s your idea and your scheme and I'm following it because I trust you, but I promised myself when I left that place to only do stuff that’s good for me. I'm not going back on that.” 

He takes a drink of water. Annabeth stares in awe – she had prepared herself for a long discussion about trust and boundaries, maybe some light childhood trauma thrown in for a little flair. 

“If you’re going to stare,” Percy says, sounding smug, “then maybe move to my left. At least get the good side.” 

“All sides are the good sides,” Annabeth says automatically, and Percy whoops like he’s struck gold. 

Annabeth sighs, deciding to just commit, and stands from her seat and crashes into the one on his left, uncomfortable on the account of nobody sitting there and breaking down the suspiciously hard seat cushion, and plants a kiss on his cheek. His stubble is growing in. 

“Gross!” Percy blurts, then, “Aw, babe, you moved to the orange place setting for me? That’s so romantic.” 

“You know me,” Annabeth chimes. “Sitting in ugly coloured coded seats for my fiancé, planning elaborate schemes with my fiancé; I’m truly the pinnacle of romance.” 

Percy smiles, nudges her under the table with his knee in what's becoming a worrisome habit. “Bet you can’t spell pinnacle.” 

Which leads to Annabeth pulling out her phone, Percy protesting autocorrect, and the two of them bent over junk mail with ink stained hands and muffled swears, the kitchen still messy and rain beating on the glass. She can’t spell the word the first time, or the second, and gets distracted somewhere after the third and pulls different spellings into the mix. Thalia comes down claiming she can hear them from her own apartment, gin in one hand and a copy of Pacific Rim in the other, and Annabeth gives up easily, curling up on her couch with her head on Thalia's shoulder and feet on Percy's lap, taking her hands off the wheel in favour of a drink and stealing popcorn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me starting this story and having a special plot point for hazel bc shes my favourite vs me now when she isnt introduced as soon as the rest of the cast

**Author's Note:**

> can't believe im writing something with a plot


End file.
